


It's Magic

by lamardeuse



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which John is Doris Day. Do I really need to say any more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kass, Cate, Sihaya and Tex for handholding and beta help. Ladies, you are the yummy chocolate pudding in the middle of my fandom. :)
> 
> This is based loosely on a 1948 movie called Romance on the High Seas, a frothy confection that happened to be Doris Day's first movie. Yes, I made John Sheppard Doris Day. The title is taken from Doris' smash hit song from the movie, since I already had a J/R story called "Romance on the High Seas", unrelated to the film in anything but title.
> 
> Written for Crys, who won me in the livelongnmarry auction. I thank her so much for her kindness and patience in waiting for me to get this finished.
> 
>  
> 
> **Day 0 - San Diego   
>  Day 1-4 - At Sea   
>  Day 5 - Hilo, Hawai'i   
>  Day 6-7 - Honolulu, Oahu   
>  Day 8 - Nawiliwili, Kaua'i   
>  Day 9 - Lahaina, Maui   
>  Day 10 - Kona, Hawai'i   
>  Day 11-14 - At Sea   
>  Day 15 - San Diego**
> 
>  
> 
> Please see the end notes for an additional warning.

“Hi, Rodney. How are you doing?” Even over several miles of phone cable, Sam Carter sounded unnaturally chipper for a Tuesday morning. Since it was a failing of hers Rodney had been willing to overlook for nearly twenty years, though, he let it go.

Smirking, he leaned back in his leather chair and propped his feet on the desk. “I'm guessing since you ask that question, you haven't read a paper this morning.”

There was a pause. “You landed the NSA contract.”

“Three cheers and a tiger for you,” Rodney said. McKay Security's latest coup had been splashed all over the front page of his_ Wall Street Journal _this morning; he'd already sent it out to be framed.

“Congratulations! Oh, Rodney, that's great. I'm really happy for you.”

Rodney tried not to preen under her approbation. After all, he'd gotten over her a long time ago – well, a while ago – and now they were friends. He didn't have to turn every innocent comment Sam made into something rife with sexual promise, just because she was the only one of his friends who happened to be gorgeous and stacked.

“Rodney? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I am. I'm here. How – ” he cleared his throat “ –  how are you?”

“Fine.” Rodney heard her take a deep breath over the phone. “Listen, Rodney – I have a huge favor to ask of you. I know it's a terrible presumption on our friendship, but I didn't know who else to turn to – ”

Rodney straightened, suddenly alert, as Sam continued. “Back when we were in college,  you worked for a detective agency...”

Rodney winced; the experience was still painful to recall. It had been his first job in the field of investigation, and he supposed it had been a valuable life lesson, but the thought of his days spent spying on cheating husbands gave him the cold sweats. “Yes, I remember too. I wish I didn't.” He'd long since put those days behind him, and now that he was the owner of the largest and most highly regarded computer security company in North America, it wasn't like he couldn't figure out a way to bury the evidence. Unfortunately, there were those, like Sam, who'd been witness to his youthful humiliation. He couldn't imagine what made her bring it up now.

“The thing is, you're the only person I can trust with this. But I – I don’t know how to ask you.”

The words were out of Rodney's mouth before he knew he was going to say them. “Sam, you know I'll do anything for you.” He closed his eyes. “I mean, anything within reason. I mean – it's not like I – oh, God, okay. What is it?”

“I need you to follow Jack,” Sam blurted.

Rodney leaned his head forward until it collided gently with the desk. He then lifted his head a couple of inches, then let it fall against the desk again with a soft _thud_. “Let me get this straight. You want me to tail your fiancé? The man you want to marry?”

“He's not the man he was a few months ago. He's become more and more secretive. There are times when he'll go off for days on end and won't have a good excuse for where he's been.”

Rodney sighed, dredging up the questions he'd been trained to ask. “What is his excuse?”

Sam snorted. “Usually he says he's been fishing.”

Rodney tried to recall what Sam had told him of her fiancé, Jack O'Neill. It wasn't easy, because he'd studiously ignored most, if not all, of what she'd said. He was ex-military, he knew that, and at one time had been her CO. “Well, he's retired, isn't he? It stands to reason he might actually be fishing.”

Rodney heard Sam take a deep breath, let it out. “Yesterday, I went looking through his papers and found his latest credit card statement. He booked a cruise to Hawaii that's leaving next week.”

Rodney frowned. “How do you know he's not planning to take you?”

Sam's voice was hollow. “I called the cruise line – he only paid for one ticket.”

Rodney cleared his throat. “Have you considered just – confronting him?” he said, as kindly as he could manage. “I'm sorry, but when he's going off on a cruise without his fiancé, that's pretty cut and dried.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I'm – I'm not ready for that yet. Please, Rodney – I need to know. Will you do it? For me?”

“Sam, if there was anyone I'd do it for...” Rodney rubbed at his eyes. Now he remembered exactly how much he'd fucking hated that gumshoe job. “It's just –”

Sam's voice when she spoke this time was low, urgent. “Rodney, I love him. If something's happened to us – I have to know.”

Rodney blew out a breath. “I'll – look, I'll do it. Just tell me what you want.”

As Sam outlined the details for him, Rodney jotted down the information with half his brain, while the other half reconciled himself to the fact that the next couple of weeks would possibly be the longest of his life.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Ow! Jeez!”

John Sheppard walked around the fuselage of his Sikorsky and folded his arms. “You drop the riveter on your foot again?”

“No, I did not,” Jack said peevishly, sucking on his thumb.

“Then what?”

“Never mind.” Jack reached out a hand, and John obligingly walked over and grabbed onto it, hauling him up from his squat.

“You're getting clumsy in your old age.”

“Shows what you know,” Jack muttered. “I was always clumsy.” He placed a hand on the silver skin of their labor of love, the WWII-era PBY flying boat that had been the focus of  all of John's free time – and most of Jack's – for the past several months. John hadn't been too sure about Jack's idea of augmenting their fledgling company's fleet with an antique like this one, but now he couldn't imagine his life without the old girl. He was looking forward to taking her up for the first time, whenever they finally...

John stared at the plane. “You – wait a minute. Was that the – ”

Jack bounced on the balls of his feet. “The last repair? Yep.”

“Oh, shit,” John breathed. He'd known they were close, but somehow he hadn't realized they were that close. Or maybe Jack had just been inspired. Either way, this was – God, this was amazing. His palm pressed against the fuselage, and he could've sworn he felt a heartbeat under his fingertips.

“Wanna take her up?” Jack asked, eyes dancing with merriment.

“Hell, yeah,” John said, grinning like a maniac.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Three hours later, John's nerves were still zinging, despite the calming effect of the beer and the twenty-ounce Porterhouse. He'd thought nothing could beat the feeling of his first  flight in an F-15, but feeling the power and strength of a big, beautiful Catalina under his hands had actually topped it. He was looking forward to adding it to their operations, especially with the California brush fire season coming up. In a couple of weeks, she'd be ready for her first water test.

But for the time being, John was going to leave everything in Laura's capable hands and go on a vacation. He hadn't figured out where he was going to go yet – money was tight now that he'd plunked most of his share of the profits down on his new house – but he figured a few days of surfing at Santa Cruz with Ronon and Teyla, even if he had to camp out on the beach, would be good enough for him.

“So where are you going for your vacation?” Jack asked. John wasn't surprised any more by the fact that Jack seemed to know what was going on in his head; you flew enough missions with someone, and you started to be able to read one another's thoughts. Privately, he admitted it was one of the big things he'd missed after he left the service, so he was glad to get that back again. Other things, like the uniforms and the haircuts, were easier to get over, and he sure as hell didn't miss having to hide who he was from everyone, but he did miss the thrill of flying high-performance aircraft. He also missed the reputation he'd gained as a crazy fuck who would fly anything, from AV-8Bs to Pave Lows.

Well, hell, this afternoon he'd taken up a sixty-year-old flying boat. He guessed that had to count for at least a few crazy points.

Belatedly, he realized Jack had asked him a question, and smiled at Jack’s gently amused expression. “Sorry. I don’t know – guess I’ll stick close to home.” He wasn’t going to say he didn’t have the money to do anything else; Jack already knew it, anyway.

“I hope you don’t have your heart set on that.” Jack drawled, pulling a small, brightly-colored folder out of his shirt pocket and sliding it across the table.

Confused, John picked up the folder and peered inside. The left pocket held a brochure with smiling, impossibly happy people beaming up at him. The right pocket held a ticket for the _SS Atlantis_, leaving Sunday.

“You – what is this?” John asked, his brain unable to process the information relayed by his eyes.

Jack beamed. “Consider it an early Christmas bonus,” he said.

John frowned. “Jack, I don’t work for you. We’re equal partners in this business.”

“Equal on paper, maybe,” Jack said, “but I haven’t pulled my equal share of the weight until recently and you know it.”

“You only retired three months ago,” John countered. “We knew that you wouldn’t be able to do as much while you were still in.”

“And now I’m out, and I received a hell of a nice severance package, and I want to thank you for the way you worked your ass off when I couldn’t.” When John opened his mouth to protest, Jack added, exasperated, “For crying out loud, I’m trying to assuage my guilt here. Would you let me, already?”

John pressed his lips together. Then he looked down at the ticket again. He'd surfed all over the east and west coasts, but he'd never made it to Hawaii. He scanned the list of destinations.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Honolulu?” The prospect of surfing the North Shore in February made his skin tingle with anticipation.

“Knew that would get you,” Jack said proudly. “You spend two whole days there.”

“I might jump ship and never come back,” John murmured. He looked up to see Jack grinning, and found himself smiling too.

“Thanks,” he added. “But I'm going to pay you back for this someday.”

“Just have fun,” Jack answered. “That's all the thanks I need.”

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“What do you mean, you already sent it?” Rodney snapped into the BlackBerry. He came to an abrupt halt halfway across the gangway, causing the woman behind him to bump into him. When he glared at her, she had enough spirit to glare back for a moment, then ducked her head and continued past him as he found a safer spot out of the stream of traffic.

“I mean, I already sent it,” Sam answered. “In the e-mail from last night.”

“I didn't receive any e-mail.”

“Maybe it ended up in your spam filter.”

Rodney snorted. “Excuse me, are you implying that I don't know how to set my own spam settings?”

Even over the hubbub around him, Rodney could hear the sigh on the other end of the line. “Just check it, Rodney.”

“Oh, for – ” He stabbed at a couple of buttons and scrolled through the list. Viagra, Viagra, penis enlargements, Cialis, hot Russian babes, Viagra – “No, as I've already said, it's not there.”

“Well, that's odd,” Sam said. “All right, I suppose I'll just have to send it to you again.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Rodney drawled. “A photograph of the man I'm tailing might come in handy, don't you think?”

“You know, this is the side of you that makes people not want to invite you to all the really cool parties,” Sam said sweetly.

“I'm sorry, but I'm a little stressed right now!” Rodney hissed. “Are you sending the picture yet?”

“Just hold on, I have to find it again.”

“Well, hurry up,” Rodney said. The crowd was thinning – in fact, it was nonexistent. The gangway was deserted. “Everyone else is aboard already.”

“You mean you still haven't boarded?” Sam demanded.  “It's eleven o'clock.”

“I'm on the gangplank!” Rodney snapped. “It's f – ” Suddenly, his chest was struck by a blast of sound that he could feel in every pore, as well as the floor beneath his feet. He grabbed onto the wall and closed his eyes until it cut out.

“ – dney? Rodney?” He could just make out Sam's voice over the ringing in his ears.

“Yes, I'm here!” he shouted. “They just sounded some kind of horn. I think I'm partially deaf.”

“That's the last call!” Sam yelled back. “You'd better get aboard now!”

“Oh, fine,” Rodney said, forcing his wobbly legs to carry him toward the end of the tunnel. “Have you found that picture yet?”

“Keep your shirt on,” Sam huffed.

Rodney reached the end of the gangplank just as the person in front of him was being directed to his cabin by a woman he assumed was the purser. “Hold on a minute, I'm here,” he told Sam.

“Rodney,” Sam said, “listen, try to have some fun for a change, all right?”

Rodney scowled. “What are you talking about?” There was no answer. “Sam? Sam?”

“Good morning, sir,” the purser said brightly. Her smile conveyed that plastic brand of eager competence that always drove him up the wall. “Welcome aboard the _SS Atlantis_.”

Rodney held up a finger, then turned away. “Sam? Are you there?” Still nothing.

“I'm afraid cellular devices will not function aboard ship, sir.”

Rodney turned back to stare at the purser. “What did you say?”

“I said that I'm afraid cellular – ”

“Okay, yes, thank you, I heard you. What I'm trying to get at is: _why_?”

The plastic smile didn't budge an inch. “Because this is the Escape Cruise.”

“Please explain before my brain explodes,” Rodney muttered darkly, massaging his temples, which were already throbbing.

“The Escape Cruise is the ultimate vacation for the high-powered executive,” she said sweetly, and a little automatically, as though she'd said it approximately five million times before. “It's designed to provide only the best in comfort and relaxation, the perfect opportunity to get away from it all and bask in a stress-free holiday.”

“And – let me guess – you do this by cutting off all connection to the outside world,” Rodney said, with dawning horror. Desperately, he turned back toward the gangplank –

– which was now in the process of being detached from the ship. Wonderful.

“That's only a small part of it, sir!” the purser said, obviously warming to her topic. She reached down somewhere in the podium, pulled out a brochure that was approximately the thickness of the San Francisco white pages and plopped it into Rodney's hands. “We have a full range of activities, entertainment and dining options to suit the most discerning taste. This afternoon, you can set up an appointment with one of our Fun Counselors –” Rodney had a sudden, terrifying image of Deanna Troi dressed in a clown costume “ – and choose your itinerary.”

“My itinerary,” Rodney said firmly, dumping the brochure back into her hands so abruptly she nearly dropped it, “is to be left the hell alone. Now, if you'll be so good as to point me in the direction of – ” he pulled the ticket out of his jacket pocket “ – Cabin 977, I can assure you I'll have all the fun I can handle.”

Rodney had the pleasure of seeing the smile dim a notch and a half before it brightened to its previous blinding wattage; he supposed that was something, at least.

“Certainly, sir!” she chirped, reaching under the desk again for – dear God – a map of the ship that was only half as thick as the brochure. Unfortunately, it made up for this deficiency by being twice as wide. “Let me just point out a few of the features of our ship before I do.” She leaned in, and added with a conspiratorial air, “We're quite proud of it, you know.”

Rodney closed his eyes briefly. Inside his head, Deanna Troi – now complete with red nose and green wig – waved at him and started laughing maniacally.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“So how mad do you think he's gonna be?”

Sam looked up to see Jack in the doorway, and grinned at him over her coffee cup. “Oh, I'm guessing pretty mad,” she answered.

"You really had to go through all that just to get him to go on a vacation?”

“Rodney's the ultimate workaholic," Sam said, shrugging. "It was the only way. Zelenka and the rest of his executive staff had been tearing their hair out for months trying to figure out how to get him to go. When they came to me, I decided to go with something more – Machiavellian.”

Jack smirked. “They didn't figure on the damsel in distress angle, huh?”

Sam chuckled. “I'm still kind of surprised he fell for it. I'm not exactly the doormat type.”

“You're telling me. If a guy ever did think of cheating on you, you'd have his nuts hanging over the mantel by morning.”

Sam smiled sweetly. “Come on, Jack. You know I'd be sure to destroy the evidence.”

Jack's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “So when are you gonna tell him?”

Sam sighed. “I'm not sure. I thought about just sending him an e-mail, but I wouldn't put it past him to jump ship as soon as they hit Hawaii. Maybe it would be best not to tell him anything.”

Jack frowned. “He's just going to keep looking for me, isn't he?”

“He's got no way to find you. I'm hoping he'll just give up – figure I booked the wrong ship or something – and start enjoying himself.” Sam shrugged.

“Your Machiavelli needs work,” Jack said, ducking when Sam made as if to throw her coffee cup at him.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Wow, this is nice,” John breathed.

The tall, ridiculously good looking young man that John was already thinking of as Hunky Cabin Boy Number Six was nodding as he surveyed the cabin with John. “Yep, it's one of our best staterooms,” he confirmed. “Double Jacuzzi, fifteen foot balcony, forty-six inch plasma screen, breakfast bar with fully stocked fridge.” There was a meaningful pause. “King sized bed.”

John smiled at the kid – and he was a kid, probably no more than twenty-two or twenty-three – jeez, John owned hiking boots older than him – and reached into his pocket. “Listen, thanks for –”

But the kid held up his hands and backed up a step, still with that toothy grin plastered to his face. “It's okay,” he said, “I've got all the reward I need for this job. Sir,” he added, gaze dipping in an insolent survey of John's body. John felt his cheeks begin to warm as the kid waved his fingers at him. “Just let me know if you need anything else. My name's Chazz. With two z's.”

“Okay, uh, thanks, Chazz,” John said weakly, thinking privately that no fucking way could he make it with a guy who told you how to spell his name. That was just – no.

Leaving his suitcase and boogie board where Chazz with two z's had carefully placed them, John kicked off his shoes and proceeded to enjoy the next thirty seconds of bliss as his feet sank into the carpet. Man, the antique oak floors in his 1915 Craftsman were pretty sweet, but there was something to be said for decadently plush wall to wall, especially on a vacation. He padded across the room to the bed, bounced on it a couple of times, and then ambled over to inspect the breakfast bar. It was set up with two chairs, and for a brief moment John felt a stab of something he didn't want to think about too closely.

It wasn't like he doubted he'd have plenty of opportunities to get laid on this boat, but that didn't stop John from secretly hoping for a moonlit walk on the promenade, maybe a quiet dinner for two in one of the fancy dining rooms he'd seen in the brochure. He couldn't help it; even after a failed marriage and a few clandestine affairs in the Air Force that had ended badly, he was still a romantic at heart. All the corny old movies he'd seen as a kid where people met and fell in love on ships, watching them on rainy Saturday afternoons with his mom, a gigantic bowl of popcorn between them, had made an impression on him. He still loved _An Affair to Remember_, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, not that it didn't make him feel kind of ridiculous even to admit it to himself. But hey, what was a vacation for if not to get a little ridiculous?

Stepping out onto the balcony, John watched the boat shed the tugs that had led it safely out of San Diego harbor, then felt the thrum of raw power, less of a sound or a vibration than a prickling sensation just under his skin, as the ship gathered itself for the leap into open ocean. It wasn't all that different, he reflected, from an airplane like the PBY – just another way to get there, a magnificent machine imbued with all the magic of a bygone era.

John shook himself. And maybe it was time to get his head out of the clouds and back to reality. He wasn't Doris Day, and this wasn't some fantasy set to music. It was a chance for some sun, fun and sex, and that was all.

As the bow began to slice strongly through the water far below him, John tried to convince himself he believed it.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“And in the washroom, sir, you'll see another of the features of this suite, a double Jacuzzi,” the cabin boy said eagerly, sweeping his hand in the direction of the toilet like Vanna White in front of a vowel. He was revoltingly fresh-faced and pretty; Rodney guessed he was one of the millions of out-of-work LA actors who'd had to turn to crime, prostitution or the service industry to keep from starving.

“Yes, that's very nice, I'm sure.” As if Rodney was going to spend time farting around in a jacuzzi when he had a job to do. Not likely.

The cabin boy's enthusiasm couldn't hold a candle to the purser's; it was taking hardly any time at all to wear him down. “And here,” he said, with considerably less pep, “you have a thirty-two inch plasma screen TV – ”

“And let me guess,” Rodney snapped, “you don't get CNN, because that might be _upsetting_.” He snatched the remote off the table and flicked it on. Oh, lovely, just what he needed to fuel his nightmares: the Disney Channel.

The cabin boy rallied for one last kick at the can. “There's also a –”

“Can I just give you twenty dollars now and skip the rest of the tour?” Rodney said, reaching in his pocket for his wallet and pulling out a bill. “Because I'm guessing I'll be able to figure the rest out on my own. And even if I can't, I'm sure there's a brochure around here the size of the Empire State Building that will explain it for me.”

The young man snatched the bill from Rodney's hand as though he were afraid Rodney might try to chew his arm off like a rabid pit bull. “Thank you, sir. I truly hope you'll have a pleasant stay aboard the _SS Atlantis_.”

“I doubt it,” Rodney gritted, as the door closed behind him.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

The next morning, John sat at his breakfast bar, looking out the window at his spectacular ocean view, sipping coffee that was so good it should be illegal, and declared the cruise so far to be a success. Yesterday, he'd explored a good percentage of the ship. He'd tried the pools, indoor and out, lazed around for a while in one of the hot tubs, spent some time on the rowing machine and the elliptical trainer in the exercise room, played Centipede in the arcade, and walked just about every inch of the deck. The ship was pretty damned cool, and now that he'd satisfied his urge to reconnoiter new terrain, he was looking forward to flaking out in a deck chair today the way you were supposed to.

He hadn't made any headway on the getting laid portion of the vacation, though there had been a few moments last night when he'd had hopes. He'd picked a restaurant at random and ended up in the forward one, which appealed to the secret _Star Trek _geek in him. There'd been a short wait for a table, so he'd gone through a couple of beers at the bar while checking out the scenery. From skimming through the brochures the purser had handed him, he'd learned this was a cruise aimed at the overworked executive, and John noticed there seemed to be a disproportionate number of sallow-skinned guys who looked like they couldn't believe they'd managed to escape. There was still a fairly broad cross-section of what he thought of as the cruise ship type, though: retirees, small groups of women obviously traveling together, middle-aged couples with perfect teeth and clothes that probably cost more than his Jeep.

It was kind of fun, John realized after the first beer, to watch people who were completely focused on forgetting their troubles, relaxing and enjoying the hell out of themselves. It was refreshing after months and years of building the business, dealing with taxes and banks and suppliers and clients, an endless parade of worries that John even now had a hard time seeing as anything other than obstacles to getting up in the air. Logically, he knew all that stuff was important, but pretending to be a responsible adult for long stretches of time without a break had had its down side, too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just sat on a bar stool and watched the world go by for half an hour.

Well, hell, it looked like he was one of those overworked executives too. Go figure.

Raising his second glass of Hoegaarden, he toasted Jack silently and took a long sip. When he lowered it, he took another survey of the room, and it was then that he saw someone who caught his eye. He was sitting by himself in one of the booths toward the back of the restaurant. His back was half-turned to John, and even from a couple of dozen feet away, John could see the tense hunch of his shoulders as he dug into his shrimp cocktail with single-minded determination. He looked – well, he looked as lonely as John felt, and for a moment John was sorely tempted to walk right over there and invite a total stranger to spend dinner with him.

In the next moment, however, John ended up vetoing it. His gaydar had always been crappy, and the last thing he needed was to be kicked out of one of the nicer restaurants on the ship his first night out for molesting a straight Baptist pencil-pusher from Dubuque. No, better to pick somebody up in one of the bars, where he could make eye contact beforehand and be sure of his welcome.

John sat down to supper shortly afterward, but his enjoyment of a truly beautiful porterhouse was marred by his preoccupation with the stranger. He couldn't help but wonder what his story was, and kick himself that he'd been too chickenshit to take a chance. Later on, he saw the guy leave, with a head-down gait that matched the shoulder hunch, and wondered where he was going. He looked like he was still working, like he hadn't figured out he was on vacation yet.

After dinner, John might have wandered through a couple of the bars (okay, four of them), nursing watered-down scotch and scanning the faces for a glimpse of unhappy shrimp cocktail guy, with no luck. When he hit a couple of notches past mildly buzzed, he gave up and headed back to his deep pile carpet and his decadently soft bed, and watched pay-per-view movies until he fell asleep.

Today was another day, though, and John was determined to find someone who came pre-relaxed, or at least work on his tan. He finished breakfast and headed down to the outdoor pool, where a crowd of people, many of them stunningly attractive, was starting to form. John was debating whether to swim first or tan first when something farther along the deck caught his eye.

“Oh, _cool_,” John breathed, grinning.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney supposed it might be theoretically possible for him to be more annoyed than he was right now, but it was hard to imagine it. After a fruitless evening spent trying to hack through the ship's fascist happy bubble to the outside world, he'd given up and spent a sleepless night tossing and turning. He lay there cursing his luck, Sam's bastard of a fiancé, and eventually gods he didn't believe in because around four A.M. he ran out of things and people to curse. By the morning, he'd decided to find the public computers the fifty-pound ship manual boasted about in an attempt to weasel his way into the system. He could defeat anything that was hard-wired into the mainframe.

On an impulse, he decided to take the more circuitous route around the outdoor pool – hell, he was working twice as hard as he needed to, the least he could do was to enjoy a bit of Speedo-clad eye candy for a couple of minutes – and he would have made it if something hadn't struck his foot with enough force to trip him and land him squarely onto his ass.

“Oh, shit.” At first, Rodney wasn't entirely sure if the voice had been his or someone else's; he was a little too busy trying to figure out if anything he owned was ruptured, dislocated or broken. Someone crouched down beside him, and Rodney looked up, squinting against the sun.

“Geez, are you okay?” It was a man, probably about his age, with eyes that couldn't make up their mind what color they were and dark hair that yearned for freedom from its earthly bonds. “I'm really sorry, but you walked across the board right after I'd launched the puck. There was nothing I could do.”

Rodney frowned. “Board. What board?”

The guy pointed down, and Rodney saw he was sitting in the middle of a triangle laid out in a grid. The lines stretched beyond his legs in a vaguely familiar pattern.

“Oh, for – you were playing _shuffleboard_?”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, so?”

“Nothing, nothing. It's just that I've never heard of anyone under the age of eighty actually playing shuffleboard.”

The guy bared his teeth. “I'm actually eighty-two. They're doing wonders with plastic surgery nowadays.”

Rodney stared at him for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “Rodney McKay.”

“John Sheppard,” the man said, taking it and shaking it firmly. “Are you gonna live, Rodney?”

Rodney shifted experimentally. “I think so.”

“Okay, then, c'mon,” Sheppard said, and suddenly Rodney was being hauled to his feet, his hand still clasped in John's. Rodney wobbled a little when he was finally upright, and John grabbed his upper arms to steady him.

“Whoa, hold on.” John looked down. “You sure you didn't turn an ankle or something?”

“'Turn an ankle'? What am I, a Victorian maiden?”

Sheppard's gaze dipped to Rodney's chest, then back up to his face. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Hm. Don't think so.”

Rodney felt his cheeks heat. “I'm fine now, thank you,” he said, but Sheppard didn't take the hint; his grip on Rodney's arms remained steady. “So what are you doing playing curling for the ice-challenged?”

John raised his eyebrows. “You must be Canadian.”

“Yes, what of it?”

John shrugged. “I saw that curling movie a while back. The one with the guy who used to play the Mountie.” He paused. “You're not a Mountie, are you?”

“No,” Rodney said shortly. “You do realize not all Canadians wear red serge or own sled dogs, right?”

“Oh, no, I know,” Sheppard said hastily, “It's just that, well, I've always been kind of had a thing for – uh, Mounties.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You're not a disappointment,” John said, his voice warm, his smile crooked and not at all charming. He gave Rodney's shoulders a brief squeeze before finally releasing him, and Rodney noticed his arms could still feel the imprint of that touch even after it was gone.

Rodney cleared his throat. “Well, it's been fun, but I really should – ”

“Have lunch with me,” John blurted.

Rodney blinked. “I'm pretty sure that's not how that sentence was going to end.” John didn't say anything more, merely looked at him expectantly. “Oh, I – well, I actually had a few things to do this afternoon...”

“Dinner, then,” John said, leaning in a little and giving Rodney a closer look at those extraordinary eyes. “Come on, you have to eat sometime.”

“Yes, I – that is, I suppose I do,” Rodney conceded. “All right, yes, sure.”

Sheppard's smile turned up about a thousand watts, and Rodney flushed again. “Cool. Seven o'clock in Ten-Forward?”

Rodney frowned. “Ten-Forward?” No way was that a _Star Trek_ reference. People as pretty as Sheppard didn't make _Star Trek_ references.

“I mean, uh, the forward restaurant,” John said, sheepishly, and oh God, it totally was.

“Great, sounds good,” Rodney said inanely. “See you later.”

“See you,” John echoed, and Rodney turned on legs that were still a little rubbery from the fall and staggered off in his original direction, keeping an eye out for deck-skimming projectiles as he went.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

John knew he'd crossed the line from eager to pathetic when he checked his watch for the fifteenth time in five minutes. It was only a little after seven; there was no need to panic, here, or to conclude he'd been stood up. That was, there was no need to panic for at least another ten minutes, minutes in which he could replay every moment of this morning's interaction with Rodney in his head and come to the further conclusion that he'd been completely wrong and hit on a straight man. John's surprise and unexpected delight at running into shrimp cocktail guy from last night – or, more accurately, Rodney's running and slipping and landing on his ass right in front of him – had probably thrown him off, made him misread the signs he was no good at reading at the best of times.

He was about ready to give up and head back to his room with a bowl of bar pretzels when he looked up and saw Rodney barreling toward the table, his expression thunderous. John tried to find that unattractive and failed; there was something about the determined set of his lopsided mouth and the bellicose jut of his chin that made John's mind go all kinds of dirty places, especially when that gaze shifted to him and John got a brief taste of that breath-stealing intensity before it got dialed back.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” Rodney huffed as he flopped into the booth opposite John, “I was just –” he waved a hand “– well, suffice it to say, falling on my ass was the best thing that happened to me today.”

John's mouth twitched; it was all he could do to keep from grinning with relief, but he was determined to maintain some semblance of cool after the Star Trek gaffe this morning. “I'll take that as a compliment,” he said.

Rodney looked up, meeting his gaze full on, and John was struck again by those laser-beam blue eyes framed by the prettiest lashes he'd seen in a guy in a while. “How was the rest of your day?”

John shrugged. “Hit the pool, worked on my tan. Played a couple of rounds of shuffleboard with Mrs. Myrna Shapiro of Boca Raton.”

Rodney's eyebrows rose. “Oh, yeah? How did that go?”

“She mopped the deck with me,” John admitted pleasantly.

“Well, you charm a few lessons out of her, and I'm sure you'll be mediocre by the end of the cruise.”

“Hey,” John protested with mock-indignation, “I'm mediocre right now, thanks.”

Rodney held up a placating hand. “My sincere apologies,” he said, sounding anything but apologetic, though the twinkle in his eye went a long way to making up for it. That twinkle was giving John a faint glimmer of hope, making him think that maybe he hadn't misjudged the way Rodney's eyes had widened in what had seemed like appreciation when he'd hauled him up off the deck this morning.

The rest of the meal passed companionably. John deliberately kept away from discussions of work or career, and as the evening progressed, Rodney lost most of that preoccupied, driven look he'd had at the start. Instead, they talked about anything and everything, from politics to Canada to old sci-fi movies – as soon as Rodney invoked the name of Ray Harryhausen, John knew he was in the presence of a fellow geek – and the time passed so quickly that dessert was a surprise.

Rodney dug into his chocolate volcano torte with gusto, and the first bite was followed by a low sound that sent a jolt of electricity to John's groin a couple of seconds before his brain figured out it was coming from Rodney's throat. He bit his lip as Rodney groaned louder, his perfect pink tongue darting out to retrieve a crumb that had foolishly attempted escape from the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, John's red bean sorbet didn't seem nearly so interesting. Hell, exploding solar systems probably wouldn't have been this interesting.

Rodney's eyes opened and he frowned at whatever he saw on John's face. “What's wrong?”

John smiled tightly. “You're kind of – uh, enjoying yourself there,” he managed.

Rodney still clearly wasn't getting it, if the growing knot between his eyebrows was any indication. “Is that a – problem?”

“No, no,” John said hastily. “I just won't be getting up from the table anytime soon.”

Rodney shook his head, still apparently uncomprehending. John groaned inwardly; hot guys who didn't know how hot they were were a particular favorite of his – and they were damned hard to find. Right now, though, it was almost as much a curse as a blessing, because he was a little nervous about explaining himself in the middle of a public restaurant. Leaning forward, he murmured, “Rodney, your chocolate happy noises sound like porn. Really, really good porn.”

Rodney's eyes widened. “Oh, I – um. Really?” he squeaked.

“Really,” John assured him, voice strained. At that, Rodney broke into a smile – not a seductive smile, but an all-out, goofy grin that made him look so damned happy and young that it literally took John's breath away.

Swallowing against the nearly overpowering need to be alone with Rodney _right now_, John signaled a little frantically for the waiter.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Rodney.” John breathed his name against Rodney's collarbone, and Rodney shivered. In the darkness, he could feel the tickling brush of John's fingers against his belly as he worked on Rodney's shirt buttons, and oh, fuck, what was he doing?

He was having sex with a virtual stranger on a cruise ship, that's what he was doing. It was completely crazy, and he didn't have a really clear idea of how he'd gotten to this point, but he was all for it. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at his dereliction of duty, but after all, he'd spent the whole damn afternoon trying to break through the _SS Atlantis'_ fiendishly well-armored network security with no luck, and he wasn't going to get another shot at it until the morning. Really, he needed _something _to occupy his time until then, and this was several orders of magnitude better than anything offered in the ship's exhaustive manual.

Finished with the buttons, John reached up to slide off the shirt, his palms molding to Rodney's shoulders. Rodney felt the warmth of John's hands travel along his skin, lighting fires well in advance of their path.

“Your turn,” Rodney murmured, fingers fumbling for John's buttons in the dark. John's hands glided down Rodney's back to his ass, then gripped it and pulled him in close. Rodney groaned as John ground against him; even through multiple layers of clothing, he could feel John's erection, hard and ready. Unfortunately, their proximity was making it difficult for Rodney to complete his task of undressing John, and after a few moments his frustration bubbled over.

“As much fun as that is, I'd like to get you naked. Do you think you could, um –”

John nuzzled Rodney's neck, then bit the skin over his jugular lightly. “Quit humping you?”

“Well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that...”

“Tell you what,” John said, stepping back, “why don't we try something else?”

Suddenly, Rodney's hands were empty; he leaned back against the door, panting and confused. What the hell had he said? Christ, it was just his luck to get the guy who was a control freak. He was enough of a control freak for six people, thank you – all he was looking for here was a little no-strings nookie.

A light flicked on, bathing the cabin in a warm glow. John looked – well, utterly edible. His shirt was hanging open on the lean, long torso Rodney had seen this morning, his hair was even more disheveled than usual, the result of Rodney's fingers in his hair, and his mouth was red and damp. It was completely unfair that Rodney wasn't going to get any of that.

“All right, well, it's been fun,” Rodney said, pointing at the door. “I'll just go, shall I?”

John's lips quirked. “Rodney, this is your cabin.”

Rodney frowned. “It is?” He looked around – oh, right. That was his suitcase.

“You want me to go?” John asked.

“I'm assuming that's what you want, since you turned on the lights,” Rodney said petulantly.

John walked back to Rodney slowly, then gently placed his hands on Rodney's hips. “I just wanted to be able to see you better,” he murmured.

For all his early experience in private investigations, Rodney had never been good at reading people, which was why he'd moved as swiftly as possible into computer security, where that wasn't a job requirement. But even he could tell that John wasn't looking at him the way you'd look at a typical one-night-stand: there was a complex mixture of lust, longing and loneliness, and maybe a few other things Rodney couldn't begin to name, in those gorgeous eyes.

It was scary as hell, and Rodney wanted more of it.

“I don't want this to be an anonymous fuck,” John said, gaze still steady on Rodney's face, and Rodney sucked in a breath at the sound of that harsh word delivered in John's silken, hushed voice, then sucked in another one as John swept a thumb over Rodney's lips. “That okay with you?”

And up until two minutes ago, that had actually been exactly what Rodney had wanted. He tended to prefer women overall, but men were much less hassle for someone who was far too busy for relationships. The sex was good enough, and he never needed to remember birthdays or worry about getting a reservation a month in advance for Valentine's Day. On the other hand, there were  moments when he wondered if he was going to end up as one of those eccentric millionaires who lived alone and hired increasingly pitying professionals to service him. It was a depressing prospect, so he tried not to think of it much.

All of which added up to the fact that, faced with the choice, Rodney had no problem answering  John's question. He slid his hands up John's chest, leaned in and murmured, “Yeah, that's okay.”

John – there wasn't really any other term for it – lit up at that. His smile curled up at the corners of his eyes crinkled, and something in Rodney's chest whacked against his ribs. “Cool,” he said, closing the last inch of space between them to kiss Rodney slowly and thoroughly until Rodney's hands hanging onto John's shoulders were the only things holding him upright.

“Better?” John mumbled, between kisses.

“Mmmnnnggghhh,” Rodney answered intelligently.

Chuckling, John tugged on Rodney's hips and led him over to the bed, where he turned him around and urged him down onto the mattress. With a little further arranging they ended up on their sides facing one another. John propped himself up on an elbow and smiled at Rodney, and Rodney stared back at him, unsure of what to do next.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, John trailed two fingers over his cheek, down to his chin, then over his lips. Rodney stayed perfectly still, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the ship around them.

John kept up that gentle, exploring caress, fingertips gliding down Rodney's jugular, exploring his collarbone, toying with the sparse hair on his chest. “You're trying to kill me, aren't you?” Rodney groaned.

“You can touch back if you want,” John murmured, his tone amused.

“I'd love to,” Rodney said, gritting his teeth when John's fingertips skittered over a nipple, “but if I did that, this might be over fairly quickly.”

“Oh, yeah?” John flicked the other nipple with a fingernail, and Rodney gasped. “Gettin' kind of eager there?”

Rodney grabbed one of John's hands and drew it down to press against his cock, still trapped in his jeans. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

John pressed back, his fingers molding to Rodney's hardness. Rodney's hips jerked, and John grinned evilly. “Now who's humping who?”

“I am,” Rodney growled, shoving John over onto his back and throwing a leg over to straddle him.

“Fuck,” John breathed, hands scrabbling at Rodney's fly. Rodney reached out and stilled his hand, then leaned down and kissed away his protests.

“Just. Lie there,” he ordered, and John's eyes went wide, and his nostrils flared, but he did as he was told. Apparently he liked taking orders. Rodney made a mental note of that, then went to work on John's pants until he was naked. Hopping off the bed, he quickly shucked off his own jeans and boxers, then kneed his way between John's spread legs and wrapped his hand around John's cock.

John's hips bucked convulsively. “Oh, Christ, I – ” he babbled, and Rodney looked down to see that John was already leaking, like he was on the verge of coming already.

“You that close?” Rodney whispered.

John caught his lower lip in his teeth before responding. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted finally, looking at Rodney out of the corner of his eye.

“Um,” Rodney said, because he'd completely forgotten, and this wasn't exactly the best time, but he had to ask, “when was the last time you were tested?”

John frowned and looked up at him. “Wow, that's one way to back it down.”

“I'm sorry!” Rodney flared.

John shook his head. “No, it's fine.” He blew out a breath. “It's been six months.”

Rodney let go of John's dick like it was a hot potato. “Six months? You haven't been tested since then?”

“Rodney, Jesus,” John whimpered. “Look, it's not a problem. Could you just – go back to doing what you were doing there? I was kind of enjoying that.”

“How can it not be a problem?”

John squirmed under him, his gaze fixed on Rodney's chest. “Because I haven't been with anybody in eight months.”

Rodney gaped. “You're kidding.”

John's gaze lifted under lowered brows. “I've been busy, okay? I have my own business, and it's taken a lot of my spare time.”

Rodney flapped a hand at him. “It's just that – you're so –”

John raised an eyebrow at him.

“– yes, all right, you're extremely attractive,” Rodney admitted. “There, are you happy?”

John grinned. “Yeah pretty happy. Though I'd be a lot happier if you –”

“Fine,” Rodney sighed, as though it was a huge chore, wrapping his hand around John's cock again and giving it a long pull in lieu of an apology. John made a thoroughly filthy noise and arched his back like he'd been electrocuted, and with about half a dozen more pulls he came all over Rodney's hand and collapsed with a groan onto the mattress.

“Sorry, sorry,” John murmured, wincing. He rolled slightly to one side, plucked a couple of tissues out of the box beside the bed, and wiped Rodney's hand clean.

Rodney wanted to tell him it was okay – in fact, he wanted to tell him that was about the hottest hand job he'd ever given or received, or seen in a porn movie, for that matter – but he didn't know how. John seemed embarrassed by his lack of control, and Rodney got that, because he'd teetered on the edge of mortification a couple of times himself tonight. However, he didn't really know John well enough to know the right thing to say in this situation.

Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wouldn't have known the right thing to say if he'd been with the man for a year.

“So, uh,” John said, glancing at Rodney out of the corner of his eye and gesturing at his cock with a wave of the hand, “what do you want?”

“Right now, I'd be good with just about anything,” Rodney hastened to assure him. “Really.”

John's mouth curled slightly, and his fingers tentatively brushed Rodney's belly. “Anything?” he drawled.

Rodney swallowed at the sheer hunger in John's eyes; it had been a damned long time since anyone had looked at him like he wanted to eat him alive. “Well, I don't think I'd be too keen about anything involving livestock or elaborate knots, but yeah, pretty much anything.”

John's smile turned into a wicked grin and his fingers glided lower, and Rodney bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. “Damn,” John murmured. “And here I was hoping to try that threesome with the goat in the next stateroom.”

“Oh ha ha, very f –” Rodney managed before Sheppard's mouth covered his and his hand closed around Rodney's dick with a grip that was tight and hot and _perfect_. Abandoning all pretense of dignity, Rodney whimpered and clutched at John's shoulders and lifted his hips to meet John's strokes, and then he was flying, tumbling, falling helplessly, and not giving a damn if he plummeted straight to earth.

John held onto him, though, eased him down as gently as he could, then hopped off the bed and returned in a minute with a warm washcloth. Rodney murmured his thanks, already growing drowsy from the sudden release of tension, and he felt John press a kiss to his temple before covering Rodney with the blanket. Fighting sleep, Rodney turned his head to see John bending down to retrieve his socks from the floor.

“Oh, you're –” Rodney cut himself off before he could complete that sentence, because right, of course he was going. _One-night stand, remember?_

John raised his head to look at him, startled. “I, um. Well, you – do you –” and God help him, but Rodney actually _understood _that.

“Sure. I mean, if you do,” he said, and he scootched back a bit on the bed to indicate that he was on board with the whole idea.

“Yeah,” John said, and there was so much warmth in the word that Rodney might have shivered slightly. “That'd be – nice.” He hesitated for another moment, then, with an odd, jerky movement, lifted up the covers and slid in facing Rodney. John's hand came to rest against Rodney's chest, fingertips exerting the lightest pressure on the skin over Rodney's heart.

“Night,” John whispered, closing his eyes.

Rodney stared, mesmerized by the astonishingly graceful sweep of John's eyelashes against his cheeks, before he mumbled a response and reached up to turn off the light.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

John awoke with a start, all his senses instantly on full alert. Sitting up, he swiftly took in his unfamiliar surroundings, looking for signs of danger. The man beside him in the bed stirred, groaning –

Oh, right. Rodney. John scrubbed at his face with his hands, willing himself back into civilian mode. Shit, that hadn't happened in a while.

“Wh't?” Rodney mumbled. “Whzzt?” One side of his face had pink crease marks on it from the pillow, and his blue eyes were slitted and just a little cross-eyed, like he'd been whacked with a mallet. John really shouldn't have been finding that cute.

Glancing at the clock behind Rodney, he stroked Rodney's cheek and smiled. “Nothing,” he murmured. “It's still early. Go back to sleep.” He made a move to get up, but was stopped by Rodney's surprisingly strong grip latching onto his wrist.

“D'ngo,” Rodney said, still out of it. “Stay.”

“I'm just going to the bathroom,” John reassured him, hand automatically going to cover Rodney's, to stroke his fingers. “Hey, it's okay.”

“Okay?” Rodney parroted, and his expression was so unguarded and anxious that it threw all of John's rusty protective instincts into high gear. Jesus, what was it about this guy? He came across as so confident and ballsy one minute, and in the next he was like a little kid who'd never gotten what he wanted for Christmas. It made John angry on his behalf, and he didn't even know what the hell he was getting angry about.

John swallowed before answering. “Yeah,” he rasped. “It's totally okay. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

“'Kay,” Rodney said, mouth curving in a smile as he relaxed his hold on John's wrist. John sat there stroking his hand for another few seconds before he shook himself and remembered what he'd been going to do in the first place.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

It took Rodney two full days to realize he'd completely forgotten about investigating Sam's fiancé.

In his defense, it was entirely possible that John had lowered his IQ by about fifty points, so he really couldn't be blamed for being a little absent-minded. Since that first night, he and John had spent every sleeping and waking moment together, and it had been surprisingly fun. Besides the sex, which was incredible, they'd lounged around the pool, eaten in Ten-Forward, and even taken a couple of moonlit walks. If someone had asked Rodney last week if he would enjoy spending a romantic evening strolling the decks of a cruise ship, he would have called them an idiot. But somehow it didn't seem so ridiculous with John bumping shoulders with him as they walked, a shy, happy smile on his face.

Last night they'd skipped the walk in favor of a double feature courtesy of the ship's endless list of pay-per-view selections, which had led to a debate over the relative merits of  _Forbidden Planet_ versus _The Day the Earth Stood Still_. John, predictably, argued for the latter as the king of sci-fi movies.

“Klaatu barada nikto,” he intoned. “Best line ever. And Gort is really cool.”

“Both have cool robots,” Rodney returned, still a little stung by what he'd thought of as John's excessive display of mirth over Robby's antics during _Forbidden Planet_.

“True. But Gort is a better name.”

“Fine, I'll give you that,” Rodney conceded. “But Anne Francis beats Patricia Neal.”

“Not for acting. Though yours gets extra points for being ripped off by both _Star Trek _and _Star Wars_.”

“That's very generous of you,” Rodney allowed, inclining his head.  “And to be fair, yours does have the whole anti-war message going for it.”

John peered at him from under his lashes, and Rodney's pulse ratcheted up to triple speed. He recognized that look by now, and it always led to really great mutual orgasms.

“Well, since we're being so polite,” John drawled, moving to straddle Rodney where he sat on the couch, “I'll also say that _Forbidden Planet_ had way more hot guys. Especially Leslie Nielsen.”

Rodney's hands slid under John's t-shirt, relishing the warm, soft skin and the sharp prickle of chest hair. “Leslie Nielsen is Canadian, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” John said, nuzzling Rodney's neck. “He had a great ass, just like you.”

“Mmm,” Rodney answered, arching his neck to give John better access. “You need one to get a passport. They don't let you out of the country if you don't have a great ass.”

“Wow, no wonder the whole world likes Canadians,” John said, grinning as he began to undo Rodney's shirt buttons.

And that was essentially how Rodney had lost two days; not a bad way to lose track of time, but it did leave him feeling guilty about failing Sam. And so, on the final night before their first Hawaiian stop, Rodney determined he would crack into the server if it killed him. He would have good news for Sam – or, well, at least news – the moment he got off the blasted boat and could make his cell phone work again.

The difficulty of finding a plausible excuse for getting away from John for a few hours when they'd been inseparable for days was nearly as much of a hurdle as hacking into the ship's computer system, but he managed to cook up a story about wanting to write postcards to friends and procured a couple of hours without John before supper.

After his fruitless effort three days ago, Rodney at least knew what wasn't going to work, so he tried the last trick he had, slipping past security by hacking into one of the auxiliary applications first. The indirect route wasn't the way he liked to go, because it was sneaky and messy, but this time his efforts were rewarded almost immediately; evidently they hadn't expected someone to override their protocols by rewriting the base code of _Dora the Explorer_. He did get a few funny looks from the parents of some of the children sitting around him when they saw what was on his monitor, but he didn't actually give a damn. Within an hour, he was in.

He started with the passenger manifest, figuring that unless Jack was clever enough to be here under an assumed name, he wouldn't be hard to spot. But when Rodney searched the list, he came up empty.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. The woman sitting next to him scowled at him, and he belatedly realized that a cherubic little boy was working away on the next terminal, where he was happily playing an asteroid-shooting game that tested his ability to tell the difference between _cat _and _hat_.

Rodney waved a hand at her in a way he hoped she understood meant _sorry _rather than_ frig off_, but her interpretation wasn't uppermost among his concerns, because it appeared that Jack was clever enough to be operating under an alias – which didn't bode well for his motives. Now Rodney would have to access the financial information of the passengers, and that would be trickier. Cracking his knuckles, he began his work.

“I wanna play Bratz!”

Rodney didn't register the whining child behind him until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, prepared to ream out the person who had dared to interrupt him, when he saw a rather large purser behind him, or rather, his belt buckle. He craned his neck upwards. “Yes, what?” he snapped.

“I'm sorry, sir, but your hour is up,” the purser said, his low rumble totally at odds with his pleasant demeanor. Nevertheless, his easygoing manner only set Rodney off more.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped.

“I'm afraid that during daytime hours, due to the high demand for the ship's computers, we have to limit your time to one hour.”

Rodney glared at the purser, then at the little girl, who was practically vibrating with the desire to get to the computer and plug herself into the mindless entertainment that was on offer. “Wouldn't you rather be outside?” Rodney demanded, flicking a glance at the harried-looking father who was standing behind her. “For God's sake, she's as pale as death. You're on a cruise ship. Take the child out for some sun before her skin becomes completely transparent.”

The father's mouth opened and closed like a grouper's, and the purser cleared his throat in a meaningful way. Rodney sighed. “Yes, all right, all right, give me two minutes,” he grumbled, hastily saving his work so that at least it would take less time in the morning to get to the information he needed.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Even though they'd only known one another a couple of days, John knew by now that Rodney's bug-eyed look was a bad sign.

“You want to what?” Rodney demanded, expression incredulous.

“Dance,” John said, sweeping a hand to indicate the couples out on the floor of Ten-Forward, swaying to an old jazz tune. “I said, would you like to dance?”

Rodney eyed the knot of dancers as though it might sprout tentacles at any moment and attack. “Are you really sure that's such a good idea? This isn't a gay cruise, you know.”

“Huh,” John said, nodding, “that would explain all those straight people wandering around loose.”

“Be serious,” Rodney hissed, leaning forward. “You can't know how people will react.”

Taking a deep breath, John rose to his feet and proffered his open palm. “Only one way to find out.” As Rodney eyed his hand, then searched John's face, John tried his best to look reassuring, though inside his heart was bouncing off his ribs. The truth was, John had no idea how people would react, and while he didn't have some secret desire to start a brawl aboard ship, he figured that if he was going to live the whole _Affair to Remember_ fantasy, he might as well at least try to do it right.

Rodney stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, and then he placed his hand in John's. “You're a nut,” he murmured as he rose, but his eyes were soft and more than a little fond, and suddenly John wasn't afraid of a damn thing. He led Rodney out onto the floor, and if people were staring at them as he led Rodney into a slow foxtrot, he didn't care.

Rodney didn't seem too bothered by their fellow dancers, either; his eyes were locked with John's, his left hand warm on John's shoulder. His right was squeezing John's just a little too tightly, though, and John stroked his thumb against the side of Rodney's until he relaxed.

The next song was another slow number, and as the singer started into the first verse of _Night and Day_, John took a chance and leaned forward as he urged Rodney's head closer until their cheeks touched. Rodney stiffened for a few moments, then huffed a small sigh that tickled John's ear. “You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you?” he grumbled.

John smiled; by now, even he knew he was being obvious. “You mind?”

Rodney's hold tightened briefly on John's shoulder before he turned his head to press a kiss to John's cheek, and John ducked his head and grinned against Rodney's neck.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

The next morning, Rodney had exactly twenty-eight minutes to complete his investigation before they were due to land at Hilo. He would have had about an hour – at least that had been his plan – but John had woken him with a slow, devastating blow job, and it seemed churlish not to return the favor.

Luckily, it took no time at all to retrace his steps from yesterday, and within minutes he was calling up the financial information linked to the passenger manifests. He cast a brief glance around him, but the computer room was virtually deserted at this hour of the morning. There weren't even any crew members in evidence. Taking a deep breath, Rodney hit 'enter' and began scrolling through the list.

Five minutes later, he was ready to bang his head against the keyboard. There was no way for him to search by the name of the person who paid, so he would have to go through every single passenger and search that way. That would take hours he didn't have.

Rodney blew out a breath; instead of fuming about it, he might as well get to work, and if he didn't hit it this time, he would later that night, when they were back aboard. On a whim, he decided to begin with the z's and work backwards, and of course he could save time by skipping over the obviously female names. It was highly unlikely that Jack O'Neill was pursuing some tawdry shipboard romance as a Trudy or a Barbara, unless he was living a secret life Sam couldn't even guess at.

The ship's horn blasted when he hit Roger Simms; panicked, he checked his watch. John would be waiting for him at the gangplank, and he'd promised he wouldn't be late (although he was perfectly prepared to let John take half the blame if he was). Finished with Simms, he backed out and noticed John's was the next name on the manifest. Well, what the hell; if he finished with John, it'd be easy to remember where to pick up tonight. A small part of him felt guilty for checking into John's personal information without his consent, but they'd both kept pretty mum on their respective histories, and he had to admit he was a little curious to see if John at least lived somewhere on the west coast. He clicked on John's name and the booking information popped up obediently.

Well, John was from the west coast – in fact, he lived in LA, just like Rodney. And his ticket had been bought and paid for by Jack O'Neill.

Rodney wasn't sure how long he sat there, mind racing around like a hamster on a wheel, but no matter how hard he tried, he kept coming back to the same conclusion. Sam Carter, one of his oldest and dearest friends, had trusted him to find out what her fiancé was doing on a luxury cruise, and it turned out he was doing – Rodney.

“Jesus Christ,” Rodney groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I'm the other woman.”

“Hey.” Rodney raised his head to see John leaning against the door frame of the computer room. Hastily, he closed the screen he was in and logged off.

John – Jack – John, _God_, he couldn't go there yet, maybe not ever – had that knowing smirk on his face, the one that usually did strange things to Rodney's internal organs. Hell, it still did strange things to Rodney's internal organs. “You trying to beat your score at World of Warcraft?”

It took a couple of seconds for Rodney to find his voice. “Something like that.”

“Well, c'mon,” John said, walking over to him and drawing Rodney up out of his chair, “Hawaii's waiting.”

“Yes,” Rodney murmured, trying not to stiffen at John's light touch to the small of his back, “all right. We mustn't keep Hawaii waiting.”  
   


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

After two hours with Rodney in Hilo, John was convinced that the guy he'd been sleeping with for the last three days wasn't the same person on land as he was on the ocean.

Not that that made any sense, but John couldn't figure any other explanation for it. Rodney on the boat had been – well, kind of tense at first, sure, but he'd loosened up admirably as the cruise had progressed. This Rodney was like the guy he'd first met, only to the nth power. He was trying his best to hide it, but he was wound so tight he looked like he was about to pop a spring.

For one thing, he'd been glued to his damn BlackBerry all morning, ever since they'd been clear of the ship's weird communications dampening field. Oh, he'd tried to be subtle about it, but if John left him in a t-shirt place or beside a shave ice stand for more than two minutes, he'd have the damn thing out and be checking his e-mails obsessively, gaze riveted to the screen. An asteroid could have struck the Earth right beside him and he wouldn't have noticed. But – and here was another strange thing – whenever Rodney did notice John was watching him, he started guiltily, hastily stuffed the BlackBerry in his pocket and affected an air of nonchalance, like he'd been caught doing something illegal. It didn't make a lot of sense, but John wasn't prepared to call him on it. Rodney obviously had something on his mind, and just because they'd screwed for three days straight didn't mean either of them was going to bare their souls at the earliest opportunity.

John told himself he was fine with that: after all, soul-baring wasn't exactly his specialty.

And look where that's gotten you, an inner voice chimed in. One busted marriage and enough failed relationships to sink the Queen Mary.

But, John reminded himself, this wasn't a relationship, and even if it was right now, it would be nothing more than a pleasant memory in a couple of weeks. There was nothing wrong with a shipboard romance, especially when the sex was this good.  He ignored the annoying voice that reminded him it was turning into a hell of a lot more than just sex, even after a few short days. Rodney McKay had a way of getting under your skin, or maybe just under John's, but the effect was the same; John was already having a hard time imagining the end of the cruise, saying goodbye, going back to an empty bed.

Well, one thing was certain, he thought: he was going to make the most of what time he did have with Rodney. Grabbing the hand that wasn't holding the BlackBerry, John tugged him forward.

“Where are we going?” Rodney squeaked.

“You'll see,” John promised, turning down one of the side streets toward a car rental agency.

An hour later, after much whining on Rodney's part and much cajoling on John's, they were standing near the water's edge at Honolii, a beach just outside of town that boasted some fairly decent surf. Separating Rodney from his BlackBerry and convincing him to leave it in the glove compartment had taken every last ounce of John's persuasive skill, so that when he discovered Rodney hadn't packed a bathing suit – and wow, how uptight did you have to be to forget to pack a bathing suit for a Hawaiian cruise? – John had decided to just buy him one and save them both the trouble. Luckily, Rodney had brought his own SPF 1000 sunblock, and the process of spreading that on his bare arms, chest and back had calmed things down some. Rodney still didn't seem convinced he liked what was going on, but at least he was willing to try.

“All right,” Rodney said, folding his arms as the surf lapped at his toes, “now what?”

“Now I'm going to teach you to body surf,” John said pleasantly.

Rodney's jaw dropped. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” John said. Looping an arm around Rodney's, he urged him into the water. “C'mon, I guarantee you're gonna love it.” He could feel Rodney's scowl burning into the side of his head, but Rodney remained blessedly silent.

“Okay, so,” John said, when they were knee-deep in the water, “have a look right – there.” He pointed to a spot a couple of dozen yards further out. “See that? That's where the waves are breaking. We want to be standing just in front of that when we kick off.”

“Oh, we do, do we?” Rodney drawled, mouth a downcurved line, and that was just about John's breaking point; for a split second he considered telling Rodney he'd meet him back at the boat, and let him go do whatever it was that constituted fun in Rodney's world. But in the next second, he realized that Rodney probably didn't have a concept of fun. And that meant it was up to John to help him develop it – as exasperating as that was proving to be. He could either give up now, admit defeat, or try to see it through until the end: in other words, be more stubborn than Rodney.

He wasn't sure that was possible, but suddenly he knew he had to give it his best shot.

“Look,” he said, taking a step forward, watching Rodney's eyes grow oddly wary, “why don't you just watch me, okay? I'll show you how it's done.” After a moment's hesitation, he squeezed Rodney's arm. Rodney looked down at the place where they were touching as though he didn't recognize John's hand; John took it away quickly, then turned and headed out to sea.

It had been a few months since he'd had the time to go bodysurfing, but the technique was so ingrained that he fell right back into it. When the wave approached him, John leapt ahead of it and started a fast-paced crawl. As it overtook him, he threw one arm forward and aimed his body to the left, kicking to keep what control he could. Mostly, though, he just let the wave take him, let the sea's power wash away his worries about whether Rodney would still be there when John hit the beach. By the time he was feeling the sand against his knees, he was charged with adrenaline and yet strangely calm, similar to the way he got during a harrowing flight.

Before he could get to his feet, he felt strong hands pulling at his arms, helping him up.  He let Rodney take over where the sea had left off, and was soon looking into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Well,” Rodney said, “that didn't look so bad.”

John couldn't help but laugh. “Nope,” he answered. “It's not so bad. Want to give it a shot?”

Rodney flicked a nervous glance at the surf. “I suppose,” he said grudgingly.

John's heart skipped ridiculously; that had been the biggest display of enthusiasm he'd seen from Rodney all day. Once John actually got him out in the water, Rodney was going to come over to the dark side, no question.

“Okay, then,” John said, hiding his grin as he jerked his head toward the ocean, “c'mon.”  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

That night, Rodney lay in bed staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck he was going to do now.

He'd tried to call Sam about a dozen times while they'd been ashore, but every time he'd either chickened out or been caught by John before he could follow through. He'd then decided to check his e-mail, reasoning that at least he could try to get some work done, but there hadn't been any mail from anyone at McKay Security. Well, that wasn't quite true; he had one new message in his inbox from Zelenka, but when he'd opened it up, he'd found its only purpose was to wish him a good time on his vacation. He'd had to tell his second-in-command he'd suddenly decided to take some personal time, which was a lousy alibi considering Rodney had never taken any personal time, but strangely, Zelenka hadn't batted an eye. Obviously, he'd told everyone Rodney was cracking up, and not to burden him with anything taxing while he was away. Lovely.

Rodney had always been spectacularly bad at hiding his feelings, and so spending the day with John had been torture. It was obvious John had picked up on Rodney's tension, and despite the fact that Rodney kept telling himself to relax, it had only gotten worse over the course of the morning. By the time John had dragged him down to the beach, his back felt like one big knot.

And then John had taught him how to body surf, and that hadn't been nearly as awful as Rodney had thought it would be. It was a little like tobogganing on water, really. Rodney had come up spluttering from the first attempt, his knees weak, his mouth half-full of sand, and started giggling like an idiot. After that, he lost count of how many times he went back out, but by the time they were due to return to the boat, Rodney was shivering and giddy and ready to collapse.

Once they got back to John's cabin, though, all the emotions stirred to life by his morning discovery – betrayal, hurt, anger, you name it – had come back with a vengeance. And then John had come up behind him and wrapped his arms around him.

“I'm gonna go wash off the salt,” he murmured in Rodney's ear. “Want to join me?”

Rodney willed his body not to stiffen, but he was sure John had to feel the change in him. “I don't think I could handle standing up for another minute,” he managed. “You go ahead. I, um, I think I'll just put my feet up for now.”

John turned him around slowly, and when Rodney forced himself to look into John's eyes, he saw concern there. “Hey. You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Rodney said, endeavoring not to sound snappish. “Just tired. I'm not used to spending the afternoon trying to avoid drowning.”

John actually took a step back at that, as though Rodney had slapped him, and goddammit, even with everything John had done to him, everything he was going to do to Sam when Rodney broke the news to her, he still felt like a bastard. No matter what else he was, John had clearly been concerned about Rodney just now, and he'd bent over backwards today to make sure Rodney had a good time. And goddammit again, but he had had a good time, he'd had a _great _time, and that pissed him off even more. He knew he should confront John right now and get it over with, end this farce, but he couldn't forget the way John had looked walking in the moonlight, dancing in Rodney's arms, and God help him, coming apart as Rodney touched him.

“Look, I –” Rodney waved a hand at his head “– don't listen to me, I just got a little too much sun today, and I'm getting a headache. I'm going to go back to my cabin, take large amounts of Tylenol and go to bed early.”

John's expression grew even more concerned. “Shit, I'm really sorry,” he murmured. “If I'd known, I would never have –”

“It's okay,” Rodney said, attempting a smile he was fairly sure looked sincere, “I had fun. Really.”

John took a hesitant step forward, the worry still written all over him. “Okay,” John said. “Take care of yourself.”

Rodney swallowed, his traitorous body already reacting to John's presence. “You, too,” he murmured lamely. Before he could turn away, John's hands had come up to frame his face, and oh, God, John was going to kiss him. He couldn't jerk out of his grasp or John would know something was up, so he steeled himself as John moved closer.

He hadn't kissed John all day, not since he'd found out the truth, and he expected it to feel different, expected some sense of disgust or shame or plain, garden variety _wrongness _to assert itself, to crawl under his skin and take up residence. But no matter how much Rodney wanted it to be different, it was just as good as it had been the first time, when John had shoved him up against the closed door of Rodney's cabin and taken his mouth with a gentleness that was as incongruous as it was arousing. 

And hours later, he finally fell into a fitful sleep after managing to reach only one conclusion – that kissing John would probably never feel anything but right.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

John awoke to an empty bed for the first time in four days. He told himself four days wasn't enough time to get used to anything, but it didn't do much good.

He sat up in bed slowly, blinking away sleep. Christ, he was tired, and sorer than he would have expected after an afternoon in the water. In a month he'd be forty, and while he wasn't exactly regretting his lost youth, he was starting to get kind of grouchy about the telltale twinges and aches that told him he wasn't as limber as he used to be.

Scrubbing at his face, he rose cautiously to his feet. The last thing he needed right now was to start getting introspective, especially considering this – thing with Rodney, which had taken a distinct turn for the weird yesterday. He wasn't sure if he'd been seeing the real Rodney, a mask or something in between – and he liked to think he knew something about wearing a disguise. Maybe Rodney really was what he seemed to be – an overworked, overstressed executive who needed a hell of a lot more than a vacation to remove the three feet of stick from his ass – but John's gut told him that wasn't all there was, not by a long shot. Something had been bothering Rodney yesterday, and if John had to put a name on it, he would have sworn it had been John himself who had been the source of Rodney's distress. He couldn't begin to figure out why, and he was crappy at talking about that kind of stuff, so there wasn't much point in going there. And maybe the reason was simple: maybe Rodney was just sick of seeing his face twenty-four seven, and needed some space. In that case the best thing to do would be to take a break, and wait for Rodney to come to him.

He showered quickly with the bathroom door open, then checked the phone for the message light before going back in to shave and dry his hair. He dressed slowly, only leaving the cabin when he was afraid he was going to be late for the tour bus.

Yeah, he was pathetic, but at least he could admit it. Looked like he was going to be waiting for Rodney a while longer. In the meantime, he had a date with someone special, and he intended to keep it.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney turned on his BlackBerry as soon as he was off the infernal boat, and was dialing Radek's work number before he realized it was only six-thirty in California. Sighing, he hung up and redialed his second-in-command's home number.

“Rodney, I have not yet had my first coffee of the day,” Radek told him, before Rodney could say a word. “Please make this good.”

“Has Sam Carter called for me?” Rodney demanded.

“Why would she have called for you?” Radek said irritably. “She knows you are on vacation. Everyone knows you are on vacation. Only you do not know you are on vacation.”

“I'm not –” Rodney began. “Yes. All right, I'm on vacation. Never mind.”

“Rodney,” Radek said, more gently this time. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing!” Rodney answered. “I'm on vacation. Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.”

There was silence for a few moments. “Rodney, I –”

“Listen,” Rodney began, slowing to a halt and closing his eyes, “can you do me a favor?”

“Yes, of course,” Radek answered immediately.

“Call Sam for me –” He had to swallow before continuing. “Tell her everything's fine, and that I'll have an answer for her when I get back.”

“An answer,” Radek said. “An answer to what? Rodney –”

“Please,” Rodney said, feeling like sixteen kinds of coward, “just do it.” And with that, he hung up and turned off the BlackBerry.

Rodney opened his eyes and continued his walk down the gangplank. The idea had come to him over a quick breakfast that he'd hardly tasted. He decided that he would continue as before, in an effort to stop John from screwing every willing cabin boy he could get his hands on. On the surface, it sounded insane, but Rodney reasoned that if he could keep Sam's fiancé from tomcatting around the ship, at least he would have saved her a small amount of pain. As for Rodney, he'd already destroyed his relationship with Sam by sleeping with John; in the end, it wouldn't matter to her if he fucked John for four days or fourteen.

Of course, he knew all of this was complete bullshit. He was a genius, after all. But it had been damned hard to come up with a rationalization even that good on approximately forty-five minutes of sleep. The truth was, he was a greedy, selfish bastard who had come to the conclusion over his third strip of low-fat bacon that he might as well have whatever he could of John for as long as he could – approximately another ten days. After that, not even he would be enough of a bastard to try to seek a relationship with John once the inevitable breakup had occurred. That was of course assuming that Sam let both of them live, which was by no means a certainty.

Still, actually following through with the plan was proving difficult. Rodney had picked up the phone to call John about sixteen times, then realized he needed to sort out how he was going to even interact with John before he met up with him again. On an impulse, he decided to take one of the tour buses headed into Honolulu. Perhaps some mindless sightseeing and several margaritas would take his mind off his life for a few hours and help to clear his head. Tonight would be soon enough to catch up with John.

“Rodney?”

Rodney stopped dead as he reached the tour bus. Then again, maybe not.

“Hey,” John said, grinning as Rodney turned slowly to face him. “I didn't expect to see you out of bed.”

Rodney folded his arms. “Oh, and why not?”

John stared at him. “Because of your headache? It sounded like you were getting a doozy when you left yesterday.”

“Oh,” Rodney repeated, “um, no. I, uh, I brought some – uh, some Tylenol 3's with me, and they – anyway.” He nodded. “I'm fine.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Well, that's great. Where are you going in Honolulu?”

Rodney shrugged, trying desperately to shift gears from psychotic to nonchalant, and clueless as to how to achieve it. “I thought I'd do some sightseeing. Why? Where are you going?”

John scratched the back of his neck. “Uh.”

Rodney sighed. “Oh, God, more surfing?”

John smiled. “No, that's tomorrow. Today – well, it's not anything you'd probably be interested in.”

All of Rodney's paranoid instincts went on red alert. Why didn't John want him to know where he was going? Jesus Christ, had John replaced him already? He'd only been out of Rodney's sight for half a damn day. Maybe he'd had a cabin boy already lined up, because nobody worked that fast –

“Rodney?”

Rodney shook himself. “If you don't want me to know where you're going, that's fine,” he muttered.

John blew out a breath. “Jeez, I can't say anything right lately, can I?”

Rodney opened his mouth, then closed it again._ Just say it. _But before he could apologize, John spoke.

“I'm going to the _Arizona _memorial, all right? I promised Mrs. Shapiro I'd go with her. Her husband was in the Navy during the war, and he was here when the attack happened, though he never told her anything about it, and he never wanted to come back. When he died, she decided to come to Pearl to see for herself. It's gonna be – well, I don't know how it's going to be. Probably not a whole lot of fun.”

Rodney tried to find his voice, but it wasn't easy when you'd been flattened. “You – oh.” He frowned as it suddenly dawned on him. “The woman you played shuffleboard with.”

John smiled. “Yeah. She's a pretty neat lady.”

Rodney fought down the warm wave that threatened to swamp him. “Listen, I –” He took a step forward. “Can I come with you?”

John cocked his head. “Why?”

“Because –” Rodney shook his head when he realized he didn't have any idea why he wanted to go with John. After all, it wasn't as though he had to worry about John picking up sailors with Mrs. Shapiro in tow. “I don't know. Never mind.” He pointed at the sightseeing bus. “I'll just –”

“Okay,” John blurted. Rodney turned back. “Come with me.”

Rodney held very still while his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest. “Okay. Thank you.”

John chuckled hollowly. “You might not be thanking me in a few hours,” he murmured, and Rodney felt the warm press of John's hand at the small of his back as he guided him toward another bus.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

As it turned out, Mrs. Shapiro managed to hold it together pretty well. She and Rodney hit it off right away – she was even more sarcastic than he was, which John figured made her some kind of goddess in Rodney's book. She told him all about her fourteen grandchildren, her apartment in Boca, and her shuffleboard team, which had just won the state championship for the third year running.

“I don't believe anybody outside the state of Florida actually plays shuffleboard, so I think you automatically graduate to world champions,” Rodney drawled. Mrs. Shapiro pinched his cheek so hard Rodney looked like he had a hickey under his left eye.

In other words, it was love at first sight.

They had to wait nearly two hours for their numbers to be called for the tour, so they spent some time looking at the shoreline exhibits that were part of the museum complex. Through the staff, they were able to access a computer that allowed them to search the lists of everyone who had served at Pearl during the attack; Rodney was a big help on that. It turned out that Samuel Shapiro had served on the _Nevada_, which had tried to head for open water when the attack started, but after taking multiple hits, had been forced to run aground to avoid sinking and blocking the only exit out of the harbor. John tried to imagine what it would have been like to have been on that ship – any ship – in the middle of that madness, and couldn't.

When their number was called, they watched a short documentary about history John already knew backwards and forwards, then boarded the Navy ferry boat and headed out to the memorial. As they got closer, Mrs. Shapiro took John's hand; John squeezed hers lightly. He cast a glance over her head and saw that Rodney was holding onto her other hand. Rodney smiled at him, and John smiled back.

When they stepped from the boat onto the memorial, John felt an odd, tugging sensation deep in his gut, and he knew he was probably in trouble. He concentrated on breathing in and out through his nose for a minute or two, and plastered on the face he'd used for most of his damn life.

It worked for him until they got to the names carved on the marble wall, eleven hundred and seventy seven names, and then John's breath got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

“So many,” Mrs. Shapiro murmured, shaking her head slowly. “So many.”

John opened his mouth to excuse himself, but no sound emerged, so he turned and headed back toward the middle section, where at least there was air and light. There were a few other people staring out like zombies at the sunken wreckage of the ship, so he was able to blend right in.

After a couple of minutes, he felt a presence near his left shoulder, standing silently beside him. When the Kleenex appeared in front of him, he closed his eyes and felt the tears trickle down his cheeks as they broke free.

“Thanks,” he rasped, taking it.

“I bought a pack at the gift shop,” Rodney said conversationally. “I figured she'd need some, but she's dry as a bone.”

“Well, I hated to think of you wasting seventy-nine cents,” John said.

“You don't have to tell me anything, but – did you have family in the war, too?”

John cleared his throat. “I was in the Air Force for fifteen years. One of my postings was Afghanistan. I – I lost some friends. One of them – I tried to save him. Couldn't.”

“Oh,” Rodney said softly. “God, I'm sorry.”

John nodded. “I still think about it, a lot, even though I know it doesn't do any good. I fight fires now – it's not like I'm going to need to figure out what the hell I did wrong.”

“Did you do something wrong?”

John stared at the rusting turret of the dead battleship, rising farther and farther above the surface of the water as the tide receded. “Christ, I wish I knew. I wish I knew for sure,” he said, and shit, it looked like Rodney was definitely going to get his money's worth.

Rodney silently offered him the whole package, and John took it. Neither of them said another word for a while.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“You're kidding me,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Would that I were.” She could hear Radek's sigh on the other end of the line.

“He wanted me to know that everything was fine and that he'd have an answer for me when he got back.”

“Yes.”

Sam leaned back in her chair. “I'm pretty sure Jack's not in Hawaii. I just saw him this morning before I left for work.”

“It would be an amazing trick, I agree.”

“So who the hell does he think he's investigating?” Sam demanded. “My God, Radek, doesn't the man know when to turn off his brain and just enjoy himself?”

“You have known him longer than I have. You already know the answer to this question.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. We should have just told him the truth from the beginning.”

Radek snorted. “Tell him that his employees all contributed to send him on a Hawaiian cruise because he was driving them to drink? This would have been better?”

“Well, maybe not the _whole _truth,” Sam allowed, wincing.

“This was the best way,” Radek insisted. “You were right all along. Make Rodney believe he is still working, and he will take a vacation. Eventually, he will start having a good time in spite of himself.”

“I don't know if that strategy is working, given this morning's events,” Sam drawled.

“The cruise is fifteen days, yes? We are only on day six. Give him six more days, he will be sipping margaritas by the pool.”

Sam burst out laughing. “Rodney sipping margaritas by the pool. I hope like hell someone is taking pictures when that happens.”  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

It seemed to Rodney as though the cruise passed in the blink of an eye, and suddenly he was walking along the deck with John on their last night before returning to San Diego. He was finding he didn't want it to end, and not only because tomorrow was likely to be one of the most difficult days of his life.

John had dragged him everywhere while they'd toured Hawaii. After leaving Oahu they'd first sailed to Kaua'i. There, they'd taken a 4WD tour of the rainforest, which at first had sounded like Rodney's idea of hell, even after John had plied him with banana pancakes drenched in syrup. He'd sighed at every bump in the so-called road, at times hardly more than a couple of muddy ruts, until they reached Waimea Canyon, and then he shut up and soaked up every waterfall and stunning gorge. He'd never been one who allotted much of his valuable time to look at scenery, but by the end of the tour he'd had to admit that Hawaii's scenery was certainly worth the investment.

After that, they'd moved on to Lahaina on Maui, which had offered humpback whale-watching – another activity that would have placed only slightly above 'visit Dollywood' on Rodney's To Do In My Lifetime list, but had proved much more enjoyable than he would have expected, especially when John named two of them George and Gracie.  The next day he found himself snorkeling in Kailua Bay, and didn't even wonder at why he hadn't complained about it. Okay, so there was a not-so-fun moment when a giant manta ray, spooked by the humans flopping around in his neighborhood, had decided to rise up out of the sand right under Rodney. He might have had a small accident at that, but the good thing about being surrounded by water was that no one would notice.  
   
After that, he'd bought sixteen pounds of coffee to bring home with him, and they'd headed back into open ocean again for the home stretch. The _SS Atlantis_'  frighteningly efficient army of Fun Counselors was prepared to ease the disappointment of leaving Hawaii with endless activities and programs. John and Rodney, however, made their own fun.

Rodney wasn't exactly sure when he'd started to have fun; it sure as hell hadn't been that day on the Arizona memorial, watching John silently fall apart. It hadn't been that night, when they'd gone to bed together for the first time without the promise of sex. Rodney had lain with his hand loosely clasping John's, listening to his breathing gradually even out into sleep, as though his wakefulness could ward off John's nightmares. Eventually, exhaustion had claimed him, and when he awoke, it was near noon and he was alone. John had left him a note:

             _ I figured I'd save you from another day of surfing. Went to the North Shore. I'll be back for dinner._

_

             Thanks for yesterday. I wouldn't have asked, but I'm glad you came.

             John

_

Rodney spent most of the afternoon trying to work on a new security algorithm he'd been developing, but he kept getting distracted, his thoughts wandering to the memory of the haunted look in John's eyes, the way he'd smiled and laughed with Mrs. Shapiro over dinner, as though he hadn't been walking around with a gaping hole in his gut mere hours before. It shouldn't have been surprising, really, considering deception was John's stock in trade, but it didn't feel like the same kind of lie; the smiles and the charm he put on for an old woman's benefit were as much the lies John told himself as anyone else, and they were designed to protect, not to wound. In the five thousand piece puzzle that was John, Rodney realized he didn't even have more than a short stretch along the edge put together; the inside was terra incognita, impossible to sort out.

Besides, he suspected he was getting too close to be able to pull back and see the big picture, so there was no sense in even trying. After that day in Honolulu, the dispassionate investigator became as much of a lie as the faithful fiancé. And as the days had progressed, Rodney had been dragged along by John's enthusiasm and his ridiculously sweet, bashful smile and his wickedly talented hands, and it wasn't long before he'd catch himself smiling like an idiot in the middle of breakfast or in the evening when he was pretending to watch a movie while John lay stretched out and dozing on the couch with his bare feet up on Rodney's lap. It took him a little more time to realize that meant he was actually enjoying himself, and it was then that he knew he was completely and utterly screwed.

Neither of them had talked about what would happen after the cruise, although John had tried to bring it up two or three times. He'd started to talk more about himself, about his business and the old house he'd bought a few months back. Rodney hadn't wanted to listen, but John's simple pride in telling him of the red oak floors – “they needed a lot of sanding, but now they're amazing” – and dark burgundy library – “because I always wanted one of those libraries with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, you know?” – had made him homesick for a place that wasn't his, and never would be.

They reached John's cabin, and as Rodney watched John unlock the door, he did his best to shove all residual feelings of guilt to the side. This was his last night with John, and he wasn't going to let anything ruin it, certainly not his atrophied conscience.  He would grab this night with both hands and hold onto it, and in the years to come, he'd think back on it fondly, even knowing that somewhere out there, Sam hated every molecule of his being –

“Rodney?” Rodney shook himself and looked up to see John half-turned in the doorway, an amused expression on his face. “You look like you're figuring out how to split the atom. What's the matter?”

Rodney shook his head, then took a step forward and shoved John the rest of the way inside. Shutting the door behind him with one hand, he fisted the other in the material of John's shirt and tugged him forward. John took an obliging step forward and leaned in until his mouth was a tantalizing inch away. “So,” he murmured, “this is our last night.”

Rodney's fingers convulsed involuntarily where they were clutching John's hips. “Yes,” he managed tightly, “it is.”

John kissed Rodney lightly, a teasing, too-brief press of lips that left Rodney aching for more. “Doesn't have to be,” John whispered.

Rodney felt his heart flop around in his chest for a few seconds before it tried to hide behind his liver. “I – I suppose not,” he managed.

John drew back. “Wow, don't let your enthusiasm run away with you there, Rodney.”

“I'm sorry!” Rodney huffed. “I was hoping we could save the talking for afterwards.”

John's chin snapped up at that, and Rodney knew he'd probably sabotaged his last chance for really great sex. “You know,” John said conversationally, stepping away, “I'm almost positive that from day one, I could have been fucking this really hot cabin boy.”

Rodney flinched. “And why didn't you?” he snapped.

“Because he spelled his name with two z's!” John yelled, flinging up his hands. “Because he was probably going to kindergarten when I was learning to fly F-15's! Because the minute you got my Ten-Forward line, I knew I was screwed!”

Rodney gaped at him. “Was that – some kind of _geek test_?”

“No!” John shouted. “I just – God, Rodney, you're driving me totally _nuts_. I've been telling myself for the last week that I can do this, that I can walk off this ship and say goodbye, because that's what you're supposed to do at the end of the fantasy, only there's one big problem with that: you are not fantasy material. In fact, you're about as far from fantasy material as it gets.”

Rodney folded his arms, stung. “Yes, thank you for that,” he said, his tone icy.

John stepped forward, right into Rodney's space. “You don't get it, do you? You're not fantasy material because you're _real_,” and Rodney froze, every muscle suddenly too afraid to move. “You're terrible with people and you suck at relaxing and your default setting is complain, and you buy Kleenex for an old woman and you could write a fucking dissertation on Robby the Robot and you have this _smile_, Christ, Rodney – ” John framed Rodney's face with his hands “– I would put up with ten hours of solid whining for five seconds of that smile. It lights you up. Hell, it'd probably light up Pittsburgh.”

Rodney was grateful for the door at his back, because right now it and John's hands were the only things holding him up. “John, I – ”

“Look, I've already pretty much figured out you don't feel that way about me,” John murmured, dropping his hands, and Rodney's stomach plummeted for the floor, “and I was just going to – let it go. Let you go, because I told myself I wasn't that pathetic.” He made a harsh sound that was midway between a chuckle and a grunt of pain. “Well, I guess I am.”

“You're wrong,” Rodney heard himself say.

John's eyes widened. “About what?”

Rodney gestured between them; he couldn't believe he was going to say this, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. “About the way I feel. About you.”

John's lips twitched, as though they weren't quite sure they had permission to smile, and then he did, and Christ, Rodney had been deluding himself about _everything_. “Yeah?” He took a step closer, bringing his body a hairsbreadth from Rodney's.

Rodney swallowed, then nodded.

John's hands found Rodney's hips, his thumbs sliding up under Rodney's shirt to caress his bare skin, making Rodney shiver. “I don't want this to be the last night.” He leaned into Rodney, brushed his lips against Rodney's cheek, his nose, his chin. “I want it to be the first.”

Rodney's mouth went completely dry. John couldn't be suggesting that. Then again, maybe he could, and that was just – God, far too tempting when John was this close. But no matter the temptation, Rodney couldn't agree to it. He could never be happy with John, not when it was sure to ruin Sam's life. “We can't,” he rasped.

“Why not?”

Rodney shut his eyes. He knew he should end the charade now; John had just handed him the perfect opportunity. _You know why not._ All he had to do was open his mouth and say it.

But he wanted one more night, and dammit, he was going to have it. So instead, he opened his eyes and his mouth and lied like the bastard he was.

“I can't think of one good reason,” Rodney said, ashamed of how steady his voice sounded.

John's gaze searched Rodney's face as his hands stole around Rodney's back. “You're not making a whole lot of sense,” he murmured, “you know that, right?”

“You expect me to be coherent around you?” Rodney shot back, as he leaned in. “I think that's pretty unreasonable.”

“Rodney?” John murmured against Rodney's lips.

“Hm?”

“Shuddup,” John said, taking Rodney's mouth.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Rodney was chanting, desperate and breathy, and John would have laughed if he hadn't been _dying _down here.

“Rodney,” he said, as slowly as he could, “fuck. Me. Now.”

Rodney's eyes slammed shut and a muscle in his jaw leaped as he grabbed at his cock.  “You keep saying things like that, and you're not going to get your wish,” he gritted.

“Oh, I'm gonna get it all right,” John said, raising his legs to Rodney's shoulders.

“Jesus,” Rodney murmured, looking down at him with an  endearingly stunned expression on his face. “You are so – so –” He leaned down, bending John nearly in half, but John didn't care; he rose up on his elbows to meet Rodney's kiss, licked at the desperation and hunger he found there.

“Right, okay,” Rodney said, pulling away. “I can do this.”

“That's the spirit,” John said, grinning. Rodney glared at him; then, after some fumbling with the lube John handed him, slicked up his fingers and slid two of them into John's ass.

John huffed out an unsteady breath, because sure, he'd missed this, but it was more than that, and the realization was a little like being unexpectedly punched . There were times when he wished Rodney had come with a warning, but this wasn't one of them.

“All right? Is this all right?” Rodney asked, voice concerned and brow knitted, and it was just such a ridiculous and sweet look for somebody who had his fingers in your ass that John did laugh this time.

“Nice, mock my technique,” Rodney snapped, but before John could explain, Rodney twisted his fingers and John's chuckle turned into a moan.

“Did you – was that good?” Rodney said, easing his fingers deeper, and – oh, _there_.

“God, John,” Rodney breathed, because John wasn't saying anything, couldn't. He wasn't sure how he looked, but he knew his cheeks were flushed and his mouth was open and panting and his cock felt heavy and hot against his thigh, and if Rodney didn't get inside him soon he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

Rodney seemed to pick up on John's thoughts, because he removed his fingers and reached for the condom. John tried to take it away from him, but Rodney slapped his hand. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?” he snapped, and John closed his eyes and groaned. “I assume that's a 'yes, please,'” he said, and John didn't have to open his eyes to see the smug smirk on his face.

He waited, and waited, and just when he was about a half second from screaming in frustration, he felt the tip of Rodney's cock press against him. He tried not to tense up, but when Rodney finally pushed past the ring of muscle, there was a bright lance of pain. His eyes flew open and he expelled the breath he'd been holding.

“John?” Rodney asked, concerned.

“It's okay,” John managed, willing himself to relax. “It's just – been a while.”

“Eight months,” Rodney supplied.

John shook his head. “No, longer. A lot longer. I – ohfuck,_ Rodney_,” John moaned, because Rodney had just bucked into him, helplessly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rodney hissed. He began to pull out, but John's hands gripped his hips, stilling him, then urging him deeper.

“John –”

John's gaze locked with Rodney's, and Rodney stared down at him like he was hypnotized. “You're going the – wrong way,” John managed. Rodney gulped and nodded and pushed forward, and John's body opened for him, taking his cock in one long, fluid glide. Rodney groaned, sweat popping out on his brow, and John concentrated on his breathing. After about a minute, it started feeling amazing, and John's hands released Rodney's hips to roam over every part of Rodney they could reach.

“Now you can pull back. Slow,” John instructed, drawing the last word out, and Rodney obeyed, hips shuddering slightly with the effort of restraint. John threw his head back and stretched out his arms and gripped the sheets in his fists. Rodney leaned down and shifted John's legs higher on his shoulders, then braced his arms under John's hips and lifted, and when he began to stroke back into him, the angle was _perfect_. John made a noise he didn't think he'd ever heard come out of his mouth, and Rodney gradually increased the depth and the tempo, driving John higher in  ever-increasing increments, kind of like he was applying an exponential equation to fucking, and you know, John loved math, he really did, and oh, God, _now_.

John was still pulsing around Rodney's cock when Rodney jerked and shouted and shuddered, and John looked up to watch Rodney lose it, his head flung back, his chest heaving and sheened with sweat, his stomach muscles leaping with the effort, and he felt his own cock give one last twitch in appreciation of the sight.  After a minute or two, Rodney withdrew carefully and threw away the condom, then collapsed on the bed beside him. John felt Rodney's breath huff against his cheek, and he smiled.  Turning toward him blindly, John slid an arm around him and pulled him in for a kiss.

“So that was okay?” Rodney murmured when they parted.

John opened his eyes. Rodney's expression was anxious and soft at the same time, and John thought he might just be able to live with that look forever. “Yeah, it was – acceptable,” he allowed.

“'Acceptable'?” Rodney squeaked, indignant. “What the hell kind of rating is that?”

“Oh, you want a _rating_,” John said, trying to keep a straight face and not quite succeeding. “Well, are we grading on a curve?”

John was still laughing when Rodney tried to smother him with the pillow.  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney stood on the deck the next morning watching with the rest of the passengers as the ship slowly crawled into port. Below them, a tugboat nudged the huge vessel toward its assigned berth. His bags were packed, his cabin was empty; to all outward appearances, he was ready to leave the _SS Atlantis_.

Inwardly, he'd never been less ready for anything in his life.

John had gone off somewhere to talk to the purser about their luggage. Rodney had – unsuccessfully – tried to convince John to go back to LA without him, citing business he had in the city. John told him that was fine, that he actually had another week before he had to go back to work, and why didn't they share a hotel room? John was just as happy hanging out in San Diego for a few days, and he promised not to get in Rodney's way – “unless you ask really, really nice,” he'd said, grinning – and c'mon, Rodney, all work and no play...

And Rodney had given in. He was a complete marshmallow. A cowardly, gooey, bastard of a marshmallow, even. At this rate, he'd be telling Sam the truth sometime next year.

“Do I look like you?”

Rodney's head whipped around. Mrs. Shapiro was leaning on the railing beside him, her expression morose.

“Probably,” Rodney muttered.

“Where's your John?” she asked, casually.

Rodney stiffened. “He's not 'my John.'” _He's someone else's John._

Mrs. Shapiro waved a hand. “My niece is a lesbian. It's no big deal. My sister, she took to her bed for a month after she found out, but she's a little uptight.”

“That's not what I –” Rodney began, then cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“I wanted to thank you boys,” she said, placing her hand over his where it gripped the railing. “I don't think I could have gone to the memorial myself.”

“I didn't do much of anything,” Rodney protested.

“You're wrong,” she said firmly. “I'm glad you came, and I know John was.”

Rodney swallowed. “I – well, thank you,” he murmured, trying to be gracious.

She turned toward the water, her gaze steady on the pier. “I met my husband in 1946, when I was eighteen. He never talked about the war. But he would wake up sometimes, swearing, shouting – sometimes crying.” She glanced up at Rodney, then looked away again. “We never talked about it the next morning. Now I know – we should have.”

Rodney felt his gut twist unpleasantly as Mrs. Shapiro continued. “You're wondering why I'm telling you this. It's because I like you, and I like John, and I don't want you to have regrets. You seem to be good at talking.” She shot him a wry smile. “Teach him.”

Rodney shook his head. “I wish I could –”

“You wish you could what?” John said, slinging an arm around Rodney's shoulder from behind and startling the hell out of him. “Learn how to surf? I thought you'd never ask.”

Mrs. Shapiro smiled up at him and patted his cheek. “I will miss you, darling.”

Releasing Rodney, John leaned in to give her a hug. “Remember, we have a date next time you're in California. You, me and a flying boat.”

“I will remember,” she said, her eyes suspiciously bright, “always. Thank you.” She turned to Rodney, and said, “You remember too,” and hugged him, her arms surprisingly strong. Rodney shut his eyes for a moment and hugged her back.

After she had left, John nudged Rodney and grinned. “She likes you.”

“Well, she's got poor taste,” Rodney snapped. He felt like something you usually scraped off the bottom of your shoe, and that sensation was soon to become a permanent condition. It was an even less pleasant prospect than the old age replete with cats.

John frowned. “Rodney, what – ” he began, but that was, mercifully, when the horn blew and the announcement to prepare for debarking came over the intercom. Rodney hoisted his overnight bag and slung the strap over his shoulder, and thankfully the effort to stay together in the press of the crowd kept them fully occupied for the next twenty minutes, along the deck and down the covered gangplank. It reminded him of the last time he'd talked to Sam, and his gut churned again. Well, there was no use thinking about that; he'd gained himself a few more days' reprieve, thanks to his own cowardice. Hooray.

When they reached the bottom of the gangplank, the sun was so bright that Rodney's eyes watered against it. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision, and stumbled into John, who wrapped an arm around him to steady him.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

Rodney wiped at his eyes. “It's too bright.”

“Told you you needed sunglasses,” John said smugly, pecking Rodney on the cheek. “Why don't we find a place along the waterfront that sells – oh, hey, what are they doing here?”

Rodney's vision was starting to clear, and he squinted, trying to find the people John was talking about. In the next moment, his irises finally contracted sufficiently to allow him to see Sam Carter approaching with an older guy Rodney didn't recognize. And John – Jack, her fiancé – was standing not five yards away from her – now four, three, oh my _God _– with his arm around Rodney. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

He was a dead man.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

John let Rodney go so that he could haul Jack into a bear hug. “Jeez, watch the ribs,” Jack complained.

Ignoring him, John gave him one last squeeze before latching on to Sam. “What are you doing in San Diego?”

“We thought we'd make sure you hadn't jumped ship,” Jack said, grinning at John. “How was the cruise?”

“Jesus, it was amazing,” John breathed, and Jack and Sam both laughed. “Seriously, I'm gonna be the rest of my life paying you back for this. I can't thank you enough.”

Jack held up a hand. “No paybacks are necessary. I was glad to do it.” He arched an eyebrow. “And it looks like you found a friend.”

John felt his cheeks heating, but he couldn't stop smiling. Sweeping an arm from Rodney to Jack and Sam, he said, “I'm sorry, this is –”

“Rodney McKay.” John closed his mouth, startled; Sam had said it before he had. “Rodney and I go way back.”

Okay, that was – unexpected. “Really? Wow, what are the odds of that?” John grinned and turned back to Rodney. “We met on the –”

He trailed off abruptly, because Rodney was pale and staring at Sam like he was seeing a ghost. It was – well, John didn't know what it was. “Rodney?”

“Sam,” Rodney said urgently, “listen, I can explain –”

Sam smiled uncertainly. “I was just going to say the same thing to you.”

Rodney frowned. “What do _you _have to explain?”

Sam darted a glance at John. “Look, why don't we all go somewhere and have some lunch? We can get into it over a beer.”

Jack clapped his hands together. “Now you're talking!”

“No,” Rodney said, stopping them all in their tracks. “I think we need to – to clear the air now.”

“Okay,” Sam said slowly, barely suppressing the eyeroll. John bit his tongue; obviously she'd known Rodney for a long time. “A couple of months ago, Radek called me. He said the staff had gotten together and decided to send you on a vacation. There was only one problem: they couldn't figure out how to convince you to go.”

John smiled. Yeah, she knew Rodney, all right.

“We talked about it for a while, and I promised him I'd come up with something. Finally, I hit on an idea: if you thought you were still working, you'd go, but that would kind of defeat the purpose. So I had to cook up a way to get you on the boat, but make it impossible for you to do the job, and hope that – well, that nature would take its course and you'd start having fun.”

John glanced at Rodney, and saw that he was still clearly mystified. “Impossible to do my job? How did you make it impossible to do my job?”

Sam stared at him. “By not sending you the picture of Jack so that you couldn't find him?”

“You honestly thought that would stop me?” Rodney demanded, clearly indignant. “I can crack any computer security on the planet; it wasn't exactly hard to find Jack's cabin once I'd traced the financial information.” He gestured. “As you can see.”

Now it was John's turn to stare. “Uh,” he managed. “What?”

Sam pointed at John. “Rodney,” she said conversationally, “that's not Jack O'Neill.” She pointed at Jack. “This is.”

Rodney goggled. “You – that's Jack?” He turned back to John. “Then you're –”

“Exactly who I said I was,” John said, as evenly as he could. He still had no real idea what the hell was going on, but he was pretty sure he didn't like it.

“Rodney, when Jack heard about the cruise Radek and your staff had picked for you, he thought it would make a great thank-you gift for John,” Sam said gently. “It was a coincidence that you were both on the ship at the same time. I never thought you'd go snooping through the financial information – but then, maybe I should have.” She frowned. “Wait a minute – you two are together, right?”

“I thought so,” John said tightly.

“But you thought he was Jack,” Sam said slowly, to Rodney. “My fiancé.”

“I started sleeping with him before I knew he was your fiancé!” Rodney protested, drawing the stares of a couple of people still milling around on the dock. “Um, thought he was your fiancé. It's complicated.”

“Hence the need for the beer,” Jack interjected. “Or possibly two. Or, hell, six. Shall we?”

“Wait a minute,” John heard himself say. He turned to Sam. “What job was Rodney supposed to be doing on the boat?”

Sam paused for a couple of moments, obviously unsure about answering, but the glare John shot her must have been sufficient to decide for her. “I told him I found out Jack had booked a Hawaiian cruise without me, and I was afraid he might be cheating on me,” she said.

“How long did you think I was Jack?” John said, turning back to Rodney. He knew his voice sounded cold, numb; it matched the way he was beginning to feel.

Rodney's mouth twisted. “I –”

“_How long_?”

“Since the morning we landed in Hawaii,” Rodney said.

“Ten days,” John murmured, stunned. “Holy shit, you lied to me for ten days.”

“I wasn't lying to you!” Rodney exclaimed. “I thought you were lying to me.”

“Right,” John said, nodding. “You thought I was the kind of guy who would whore around on his fiancée. That's a lot better. And you stayed with me – why? Because you were what, doing a _job_? That's one hell of a work ethic you've got there.”

“John, I – it's not the way it sounds –”

“Oh, yeah,” John said, chuckling bitterly, “I think it's exactly the way it sounds.” He nodded to Jack. “See you back at the barn.”

“John, hey,” Jack began, but John really wasn't in the mood to have his mind read, so he took off, ignoring the calls from the people behind him.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney was quite proud of himself; he managed to avoid Sam for three whole weeks before she finally quit calling and e-mailing and leaving endless voice mail messages and barged into his office with Radek, the little traitor, hot on his heels.

“Get out,” Rodney said, not even bothering to look up from his laptop.

“Rodney, listen –” Sam began.

“No. I don't have to,” Rodney snapped, aware he was sounding like a three-year-old. “I have a very successful business and I make a lot of money and that means I don't have to listen to people I don't want to.”

“Not even your friends who care about you?”

Rodney snorted. “If you see anybody in this room who fits that description, you need your vision checked.”

Sam folded her arms. “Well, if we're going to play that game, I could say the same thing, considering you thought you were helping my fiancé cheat on me.”

Rodney shot to his feet. “You've got a _truckload _of gall –”

“Enough!” Both Rodney and Sam jumped slightly at Radek's shout. “Rodney, you are going to listen to Sam, because if you do not, it will only be a matter of time before I kill you. I will not be convicted – I am sure it will be ruled justifiable homicide – but nevertheless, it is something I would like to avoid.” He stabbed a finger at Rodney. “Sit.”

Rodney sat. After a moment, Sam took a seat as well.

“Now: listen for five minutes before you throw her out. That is not too much of your precious time to give an old friend, and a valuable friendship.” He waved a hand at Sam – _over to you _– then left them alone.

Rodney glared at Sam. “Five minutes. Fine. Get it over with.”

Sam blew out a breath. “Okay. Look, first of all, I'm sorry. I never intended for it to go the way it did. You have to know that.”

“I do,” Rodney conceded, lifting his chin. “That doesn't change the fact you lied to me.”

Sam leaned forward. “Would you have gone on a vacation for no reason other than to have fun?”

Rodney's jaw twitched. “Possibly.”

“When was the last time you actually did that, Rodney?”

“I don't remember offhand.”

“Well, I do, and so does Radek. Six years.”

Rodney gaped. “It can't have been – yes, all right, so it might have been that long. So what?”

Sam sighed. “Oh, I don't know. I was worried about one of my oldest and dearest friends possibly dropping dead from a coronary by the time he turned forty?”

“What's to worry about? I'm fine,” Rodney snapped. “At least I was before I went on a _vacation_.”

“Were you?” Sam demanded. “Were you really? You work – what – eighty hours a week?”

“Seventy-five,” Rodney said, bristling.

“You work long hours, and at the end of the day, you go home to your cat.”

“It's a luxury condo in Century City,” Rodney drawled. “Hardly a _home_.”

Sam looked at him, and Rodney realized what he'd said. “I didn't mean it that way.”

“Rodney, I know what it's like,” Sam said softly. “I know what it's like to be wrapped up in your job, to convince yourself that's enough. But I'm here to tell you – it's not. It's not even close to enough. And if you find someone who'll remind you there's more to life than your goddamned career, who makes you laugh, who you can have fun with – you need to grab hold of that person and never let go.”

Rodney concentrated on trying to breathe evenly. “It doesn't matter if I agree with you or not, does it?” he said finally. He'd meant it to come out bitter, but he only sounded tired. Maybe he'd been leaving a few messages himself over the last couple of weeks.

“Jack says he's miserable,” Sam said, and Rodney's head snapped up. “He comes in every day looking like he hasn't slept. Jack's about ready to take him off flying – if he can figure out how.”

Rodney swallowed. “That's –” God, the thought that John might actually hurt himself – or worse – because he was too tired to fly – it was too horrible to contemplate. In the end, he could live with a world in which John wasn't his; he couldn't handle a world without John in it at all.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “It's not so good. Why don't you talk to him?”

“I've been trying,” Rodney said. “He hasn't returned any of my calls.”

Sam arched her eyebrows. “I've heard that can happen. The secret is to be pain in the ass until they give you five minutes just to get rid of you.” She rose to her feet and smiled at Rodney fondly. “I have faith you can be enough of a pain in the ass to get your five minutes, too.”

“Thanks,” he said, one corner of his mouth jerking in a half-smile. Sam seemed to take this as a victory, because she nodded and let herself out with a minute and a half to spare.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

There was just enough chill in the ocean air at sunset to make John shiver in his shorts and t-shirt. He thought about going home, but he was kind of enjoying being hypnotized by the waves. He'd been enjoying it since – what, noon? Something like that; the details were a little hazy. But then, he could say that about a lot of things lately.

“Hey,” a gruff voice said. “'Haven't seen you around in a while.”

John tore his gaze away from the ocean to look up at the source of the voice. When he was on his feet, Ronon Dex was pretty fucking tall. When John was sitting on his ass in the cooling sand, it was like having the giant looking down at you from the top of the beanstalk. Luckily, Teyla Emmagen, standing beside him, didn't require him to break his neck just to smile at her. Both of them were carrying their full-size boards and wearing their wetsuits. They must have been out there all afternoon, and John hadn't noticed them.

Jesus, he was so tired.

“Haven't been around in a while,” John answered.

Teyla laid her board carefully on the sand, then sat down beside him; Ronon flopped down on the other side. “When are you heading to the championships up the coast?” John asked.

“We are leaving Friday,” Teyla told him.

Ronon nudged his shoulder. “You gonna come with us?”

John shook his head. “Don't think so, thanks.”

“How was Hawaii?” Teyla asked him.

“It was - uh, fine. Surfing was good. Surfing was great, actually. The rest of it –” He trailed off. He didn't have the energy to get into it.

“What else is there besides surfing?” Ronon asked.

Teyla placed her hand over John's where it lay on the ground beside him. “You met someone special.”

John stared at her. "Seriously, how do you _do_ that?" Teyla only smiled serenely, and John looked away, watched his toes poke at the sand. “I thought I did. I mean, I thought he was special,” he managed. “He wasn't.”

“Do you doubt your own judgment?”

John lifted his head. “I – I guess so, yeah.”

“I have always known you to be an excellent judge of character,” Teyla told him gently.

John turned his hand in hers and squeezed it before letting go. “Thanks. I wish I could be that sure.”

“When the time is right, you will be,” Teyla assured him, rising to her feet, and that was exactly the kind of cryptic answer she always gave him, the ones he hated because she always turned out to be right. Ronon stood, too, though not before mussing John's hair with one of his huge hands.

“Get some sleep,” Ronon instructed. “Your eyes look like two pissholes in the sand.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” John called, as he watched the two of them walk off down the beach together.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

Rodney wiped his hands against his pants for the third time since he'd gotten out of the car. He hadn't sweated this much since he'd woken up stuck to his sheets in Grade Eight, terrified his mother would find out before he could sneak them downstairs to the washer.

“I'm a lying, cowardly asshole,” Rodney murmured as he stood outside the door. “No, no, he might agree and slam the door in my face. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. No, I said that already, in every single message.” He took a deep breath. “The thing is, I love you.”

The door swung open, revealing John on the other side, blinking and bleary-eyed in the morning sun. He looked exhausted. He looked like hell.

He looked beautiful.

“How much did you hear?” Rodney blurted.

John frowned. “Hear?”

Rodney waved a hand. “I was – um. Talking to myself.”

“Okay,” John said slowly. “Well, I'm just gonna get the paper –” he pointed at a spot just behind Rodney “– and then I'll go back inside and you can keep talking to yourself.”

“No!” Rodney blurted desperately, as John stepped around him. “I mean, I can get the paper for you – ” He whirled and bent down to pick it up, but John was already stooped over, and when he started to rise, the top of John's head clocked him on the underside of his chin.

“Ow!” both of them exclaimed, stumbling apart and rubbing at their respectively bruised parts.

“Jesus,” John muttered, glaring at him.

“Oh, God, I'm sorry,” Rodney breathed, moving toward John and reaching up. “I didn't mean to – ”

John flinched away from his touch, and Rodney's heart stuttered in his chest. “What do you want, Rodney?”

“I want to – to see your house,” Rodney said, and what was he saying? He hadn't rehearsed that one. “You told me all about it, and so, I, um, wanted to see it.”

John blinked at him for a few moments. “I don't know – if that's such a good idea.”

“Just five minutes,” Rodney insisted. “A five minute tour, and then I'm gone.” This was crazy; this would never work. “Come on, you talked about it enough.”

John looked at him again, and Rodney tried not to let all the fear and hope and desperation and longing show on his face, but dammit, it wasn't easy. Finally, after what seemed like a decade, John nodded curtly. “Okay. It's not like I have anything better to do.”

“Right. Thank you,” Rodney said, nodding furiously. John sighed and turned, and Rodney followed him, wondering how the hell he was going to convince John not to throw him out when his time was up.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“So this is the foyer,” John said, closing the door behind him, trying not to get too close to Rodney in the process. It was tough, though, because Rodney seemed to be too close all the time, and damn, he smelled good. John didn't want to think about how he must smell; it was probably a match for 'geriatric goat with a case of terminal flatulence.'

Jack had grounded him yesterday, after he'd fallen asleep at his desk in the middle of completing his flight plan. “We don't have enough planes for you to wreck,” he'd said. “For Christ's sake, take three days off and spend it sleeping or I'll tie you to the bed myself.”

So John had gone, but his sleep had still been fitful, the way it had been for nearly a month. Today, his only plan was to get to the pharmacy for some pills that might knock him out and stop him thinking. Or at least that had been the plan before Rodney showed up.

Rodney. In his house. He was having a hard time reconciling Rodney with home, especially when he'd spent so much energy telling himself to quit seeing him everywhere, from the breakfast nook to the overstuffed chair in the library to his big, wide, empty bed. To have him here now, when he was sleep-deprived and vulnerable, was way too dangerous.

“Are these the floors?” Rodney asked. John shook himself out of his reverie.

“What floors?” he asked. The question came out harsher than he'd intended, and Rodney flinched slightly.

“The, um, the red oak? The ones you sanded?” He pointed down at the boards in the hallway.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” John answered. He was surprised Rodney remembered that.

Rodney nodded, then squatted down and touched the floor with his fingertips.

“I, uh, I don't know how clean that is,” John said weakly, because God, Rodney was in his house and touching his floor, and why was that so hard to take?

“You did a wonderful job,” Rodney murmured, looking up at John from under those long lashes.

“I – yeah. Thanks,” John managed.

Rodney rose from his crouch and dusted off his hands. “Can I see more?” he asked.

“Why?” John demanded. “Why do you want to?”

“Because this place is important to you,” Rodney said, taking a tentative step forward, and Christ, too close, too close. “Because – I know I screwed up, and I want to make it right.”

John shook his head. “I can’t do this now.”

“Then when is a good time?” Rodney demanded, suddenly angry. “When you crash your plane into a mountain from exhaustion?”

“Who told you –” John began. “Oh. Sam.”

“I know it’s none of my business –”

John laughed hollowly. “You got that right.”

“– but I can’t help it. I couldn’t stand it if – something happened to you.”

John’s lip curled. “Well, I’d hate for you to have another thing on your conscience, so I’ll try not to get myself killed just for you, how’s that?”

Rodney’s face crumpled. “God, I know, I’m screwing this up. You’re right, this isn’t about me – but you have to understand, it’s a little hard, because it’s almost always been about me, and shifting gears at thirty-nine is not the easiest – anyway. Right. Not about me.” He took a deep breath, let it out, then seemed to focus on something off John’s left shoulder. “Oh,” he said.

John turned as Rodney walked past him into the library. “Wow, this is…” Rodney shook his head. “Your description didn’t do it justice.”

“Thanks,” John said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“No, I mean – it’s beautiful.” He turned slowly, taking it all in – the faded Persian rug, the bookshelves, the chair John wasn’t thinking would suit Rodney perfectly. “It’s – the kind of place I imagine when I think of home.” He looked up at John, and their gazes locked.

John drew in a shuddering breath. “I think your five minutes is up.”

  
Rodney hesitated for a moment, and then his expression turned determined, intent, the way he'd been that first night on the ship, only this time all that intensity was focused on John. Suddenly, it seemed like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

My condo cost two million dollars,” Rodney said, taking a step closer, “and I hate it. It’s impersonal – sterile, even – and I paid a designer way too much to give me white carpets I'm always getting cleaned and furniture that looks like it came from Ikea. I suppose it’s easier, though, to convince yourself you’re not missing anything if you never spend any time at home. If there’s no one to come home to.” John watched, helplessly, as Rodney came closer, as Rodney took John's face carefully in his hands. "God, I wish I could come home to you."

"Rodney, don't," John whispered.

“I'm a lying, cowardly asshole,” Rodney husked. “I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” He searched John's face. “The thing is, I love you.”

John sucked in a breath. "And that's supposed to make it okay?"

"No," Rodney answered, "it's supposed to make you give me one more chance."

"You're still making it all about you," John said softly. "I'd have to love _you_ to give you another chance."

Rodney stared at him, and John watched as his expression changed from hopeful to stricken.  "Oh, right," he murmured, dropping his hands. "Good point." He pointed toward the door. "Well, I'll just, um –"

John watched Rodney turn away, watched as those shoulders drooped in the way that had caught John's attention the first time he'd seen him.

When the time is right, you will be sure.

"Rodney," he said, as Rodney's hand reached for the doorknob.

Rodney stopped, but didn't turn. John took a deep breath and thought, _I can make anything fly._

"You want your second chance or not?"

Rodney turned back to him slowly, his eyes still scared. "You – you mean –"

John nodded.

"No, you can't," Rodney breathed. "Really?"

John nodded again. "Yeah," he said. "Really."

Rodney slumped against the door and closed his eyes. "Oh, thank God. I was hoping, but I mean, I didn't honestly think I had a snowball's chance, not after –" He passed a shaking hand over his face, and when it came away, his cheeks were streaked and damp.

"Hey," John said, closing the distance between them in a few short strides and clamping his hands around Rodney's upper arms, "hey, Rodney, don't."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Rodney babbled, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I guess I'm tired, too."

John leaned in slowly and kissed him lightly, carefully, and Rodney tipped his head back against the door and didn't grab, didn't press back, didn't ask for anything John wasn't willing to give. When they parted, Rodney's body was trembling under his mouth and hands, maybe from restraint or exhaustion or relief or a combination of all three.

"C'mon," John said, taking Rodney's hand, "let's finish that tour." And later, when John lay drowsing in his wide bed, his body curled around Rodney's warmer one, it occurred to him that he probably wouldn't be needing those sleeping pills after all. But then, not everything worked out the way you planned.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: character suffering post-traumatic stress.
> 
> Additional story notes: I wish like hell I could have worked more of Ronon and Teyla in here. Anyone who wants to write the AU where they're globetrotting, bohemian championship surfers is welcome to do it.
> 
> First published January 2009.


End file.
